Karen Reaching Autism Emojis & Text

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 1 (Autistic author) It happened, during another failed attempt at the krabby patty formula. Plankton tried sneaking through the back when Mr. Krabs saw him. "You again!" Mr. Krabs roared, his eyes bulging like a pair of boiled eggs about to pop. "You're not getting it, I'll make sure of that!" With that, Mr. Krabs swung a nearby frying pan with such ferocity that even SpongeBob flinched. Plankton's tiny body was no match for the metallic beast that was hurtling towards him, and the next thing he knew, his world had gone dark. SpongeBob's eyes widened as he watched his boss's arch-nemesis crumble to the ground, the frying pan clattering loudly beside him. The usually boisterous kitchen was now eerily silent, save for the distant hiss of the fryers. Mr. Krabs' chest heaved with each breath, his claws still poised in the air from the swing. "Mr. Krabs!" Sponge Bob squeaked, his spatula frozen mid-air. "Is he okay?" But Mr. Krabs' has retreated to his own office, leaving Sponge Bob with Plankton. Carefully, Sponge Bob prodded him with his spatula. No response. His single, tiny eyelid was closed. After a while, Plankton stirred. His eye fluttered open, but the world was a jumbled mess. The colors were too bright, the noises too loud, the smells too overwhelming. The kitchen of the Krusty Krab, a place he still knew like the back of his tiny hand, was suddenly a chaotic maelstrom of sensory input that his brain couldn't process. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of it all, but the clanging of pots and pans, the sizzling of the fryers, and the garish neon lights just added to the confusion. SpongeBob's face appeared above him, a mask of worry and concern, his porous expression more complex than anything Plankton had ever seen. "Are you okay?" the sponge asked, his voice a gentle wave lapping against the shore of his newfound reality. Plankton nods, running back home to the Chum Bucket. Plankton's computer wife Karen's no stranger to him coming back upset or wanting space. So as Plankton retreats to his room in the Chum Bucket, she doesn't prompt him. Alone in the bedroom, Plankton intensely stared at the wall, his thoughts racing like a tornado. Everything was different now. The once-familiar world had turned on him, and he couldn't understand why. The lights in the Chum Bucket, usually a comfort, now blazed like the sun in his face. The noises, oh, the noises! They were so loud, so overwhelming, like a cacophony of a million tiny bells ringing in his head. He put his hands over his ears, trying to block them out, but even the softest hum seemed to resonate within his skull. Plankton wasn't sure how to process these new sensations. His brain was on overload, and his body felt like it didn't belong to him anymore. He was aware of every tiny detail in his environment, every speck of dust on the floor, every vibration from the floorboards, and it was all too much. He tried to get up, to find solace in his usual routine, but his legs failed him. They trembled and wobbled like Jell-O on a stormy sea. Plankton fell back onto the bed, feeling the softness of the pillow beneath him and the cool metal of the bed frame against his back. It was then that he noticed the pattern of the wallpaper, the tiny, intricate shapes that danced before his eye. They spun and swirled, forming complex mazes that his mind tried desperately to solve. It was mesmerizing, yet terrifying. He was trapped in a world of overstimulation, and he didn't know how to escape.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 13 (Autistic author) ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ Plankton quivers. "Stop," he whispers, his voice a plea. "Please." Mr. Krabs' grin widens, eyes glinting with cruel delight. "Afraid I'll do to you what you deserve?" Before Plankton can respond, Mr. Krabs punches at him with his claw. Plankton squeaks in pain, his eye widens with terror, his voice a distressed static. "No, Mr. Krabs, please stop!" Mr. Krabs' chuckles turn into full-blown laughter. "Look at him squirm," he says, his voice a rumble. He doesn't heed the tears streaming down Plankton's face. Plankton's body wrenches in pain, his antennae sticking straight out in alarm. "Why?" he whispers, his voice a broken static. Mr. Krabs' laughter echoes. "Because you're weak," he sneers, his voice a harsh grate. "Always have been, always will be." Plankton's body shrinks, his antennae drooping. "No," he whimpers, his voice a static plea. Mr. Krabs' laughter fills the room, his claws still poised for another strike. "Look at the tiny thief," he says, his voice a cruel cackle, "so scared of a little pain." Without warning, his claw swings down, connecting with Plankton's thin leg, and Plankton's scream pierces the air, his voice a shattered static. Pain shoots through his body like lightning, his leg feeling like it's on fire. He tries to pull away. "Mr. Krabs," he gasps, his voice a desperate whine. Mr. Krabs' laughter continues, unabated by Plankton's cries. "See? You're just a tiny, weak little creature," he says, his voice a malicious cackle. Plankton's screams fill the room, the pain in his leg unbearable. "No," he whispers, his voice a static moan. "No more." Mr. Krabs' laughter doesn't waver, his claws still poised for another strike. "Oh, poor Plankton," he sneers, his voice a harsh static. Plankton's body writhes in pain, his leg twisted at an impossible angle as Sandy and Karen return. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, her voice a shocked rumble. "Mr. Krabs, what are you doing?" she asks, as Karen rushed to Plankton. Mr. Krabs' grin doesn't falter. "Teaching a lesson," he says, his voice a cruel crackle as he finally leaves. Sandy's face is a picture of horror, her voice a trembling trill. "What did he do to you?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Karen's screens flicker with rage, her beeps sharp. "That monster!" she says, her voice filled with fury. She quickly assesses the damage. Plankton's leg is twisted grotesquely, his tiny body trembling with pain. Sandy's hands hover over his body, unsure how to help without causing more distress. Sandy nods, her face pale with shock. "I'll get SpongeBob," she says, her voice a trembling trill. She runs to the phone, dialing with trembling fingers. "Sponge Bob, please come quick," she says, her voice a desperate hum. While Sandy is on the phone, Karen's screens flicker with medical information. She quickly assembles a makeshift splint for Plankton's leg, her beeps a frantic symphony of care as SpongeBob arrives. His eyes are wide with concern, his voice a panicked squeak. "What happened, Plankton?" he asks, his eyes damp with unshed tears. But Plankton's eye had rolled up in his head. Sandy's voice is shaky as she tells Sponge Bob the story, her eyes never leaving Plankton's trembling body. "Mr. Krabs... he was so cruel," she says, her voice a soft whisper of disbelief. Sponge Bob's face twists with anger. "Why would he do this?" he asks, his voice a strained whine. "First causing brain damage, and now..." Karen's screens glow with determination. "We'll deal with Mr. Krabs later," she beeps. "First, we need to get Plankton help." Sponge Bob nods, his eyes wide with fear. "What can we do?" he asks, his voice a choked whisper. Karen's screens flicker with information. "His leg is broken, and his sensory overload could be severe." Sponge Bob's face falls, his voice a sad squeak. "Oh no, Plankton." He gently picks up his friend, his touch as soft as a feather. Sandy watches, her eyes wide with fear. "What now?" she asks, her voice a trembling trill. "We can't just take him like this to a regular hospital. We'll have to be careful not to overwhelm his senses, and find medical help equipped for neurodivergent people like Plankton." SpongeBob speaks up. "I was born with a mild form of idiopathic Autism. Different from Plankton's I know, but my parents have taken me to a sensory-friendly clinic. They are skilled and have lots of different methods of medicine! It's called the Quiet Bubble Clinic!" Sandy nods, her eyes filling with hope. "That sounds perfect," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "Let's take him there." Karen's screens pulse with agreement. "Good thinking, Sponge Bob," she beeps. "We'll have to be careful, though. Any loud noises or sudden movements could trigger another meltdown." Sponge Bob nods, his grip on Plankton steady. "Sandy can drive," he says, his voice determined. "We'll get you to the Quiet Bubble Clinic, buddy."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 7 (Autistic author) They sit in silence for a moment, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems the only sound. Then Plankton's eye lights up. "Idea," he says, his voice a sudden burst of static. "Make something with Karen. Together." Karen's screens blink with excitement. "That sounds wonderful," she beeps. "What do you want to make?" But before Plankton can formulate a response, Patrick Star bursts in. "Karen!" he booms, his voice shaking the walls. "I want chum!" Plankton's eye darts to the door, the sensory assault starting again. "Patrick," he whispers, his body tense as a bowstring. Karen's screens quickly assess the situation. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Not now." But Patrick's enthusiasm can't be dampened so easily. He bounds over to the table, his star-shaped body bouncing. "Chum, chum, chum!" he sings, oblivious to Plankton's distress. Karen's screens flicker with annoyance, but she keeps her voice steady. "Patrick, not now," she repeats. "Plankton's not feeling well." Patrick's starry eyes widen. "Oh, sorry, buddy," he says, his voice dropping an octave. He looks at Plankton with concern. "What's wrong?" He asks, poking Plankton. Plankton jumps, his senses on high alert. The poke feels like a battering ram, and he lets out a squeak of pain. Patrick's hand retracts quickly, his expression a mix of shock and confusion. "Whoa, sorry," he says. "What's with you?" Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "I'll go make you chum." Patrick nods, his concern forgotten in the face of his hunger. "Okay, thanks, Karen," he says, his voice bouncing with excitement. She retreats leaving Plankton alone with Patrick in the living room. Patrick stares at Plankton for a moment, his expression a blend of curiosity and confusion. "You okay?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton's eye flutters closed, his body trying to absorb the sudden intensity of the interaction. "Take your time," he whispers to himself, his mantra a shield against the overwhelming world. Patrick, ever the innocent, watches him with a puzzled frown. "What's 'Take your time'?" he asks, his voice a gentle rumble. Plankton opens his eye, looking at the simplicity of Patrick's face. He scoots away. Patrick, unfazed, advances, his hand outstretched. "What's up?" he asks, poking again. The sensation of Patrick's touch is like a thousand needle pricks. Plankton yelps. Patrick, not comprehending, pokes again, his starry eyes full of innocent wonder. "Why so jumpy?" he asks, his voice a deep rumble. Plankton's body tenses with each poke, the sensation like a barrage of tiny explosions. "Patrick, please," he gasps, his voice a frantic static. But Patrick, ever the simple starfish, doesn't understand. He keeps poking, his curiosity growing. "Why?" he asks, his voice a gentle boom. "You're always so bouncy." Plankton's eye twitches with each touch. "Patrick, no," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. But Patrick, lost in his own world, doesn't notice. He giggles, poking him again. "You're like a pin cushion!" he exclaims, his voice a deep chuckle. Plankton's eye squeezes shut, his body wracked with pain. "Patrick, please," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Patrick doesn't seem to comprehend the distress he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter echoing through the room, each poke sending shockwaves of pain through Plankton's body. "You're like a squeaky toy," he says, his voice a delighted rumble. Plankton's body twitches with each touch, his voice a desperate buzz of static. "Patrick, please stop," he begs, his voice a high-pitched squeak. But Patrick's simple mind doesn't register the pain he's causing. He keeps poking, his laughter growing louder. "You're so funny!" he bellowed, his starry hands moving like a jackhammer as he starts tickling him. Plankton's body spasms with each touch, his voice a desperate symphony of static. "Patrick, stop!" he pleads, his breathing quick and shallow. But Patrick, in his blissful ignorance, only laughs harder, his massive hands poking and tickling without mercy. "You're hilarious, tiny dude!" he bellows. Plankton's body is a storm of sensory overload, his voice a high-pitched wail of static. "Patrick, please!" he begs, his limbs flailing. Patrick's laughter fills the room like a tidal wave, crashing over Plankton's desperate pleas. "You're so much fun, Planky!" he booms, his hands moving in a blur of star-shaped shadows. Plankton's body jerks uncontrollably, his screams of "No, no, no!" lost in the cacophony of Patrick's laughter. His tiny limbs flail, trying to escape the relentless onslaught of pokes and tickles. Patrick, his eyes wide with delight, doesn't see the tears forming in Plankton's eye. He just keeps poking, tickling, and laughing, oblivious to the damage he's doing. Plankton's cries escalate into a frantic symphony of squeaks and static, his body contorting in a desperate attempt to evade the starfish's torment. The room spins around him, a whirlpool of pain and sensation that threatens to swallow him whole. Patrick, his face a picture of delighted confusion, keeps poking and tickling, his laughter booming like thunder underwater. "What's the matter, little buddy?" he asks between chuckles. Plankton's body convulses with each touch, sobbing as Karen finally emerges with Patrick's chum. She sees them both on the floor. "Patrick, what are you doing?" she beeps, her voice a mix of anger and concern. But Patrick is lost in his own world of mirth, not hearing Karen's plea. "Just having some fun," he says, his voice a deep rumble of laughter. Plankton's cries become more frantic, his voice a high-pitched siren of despair. Karen quickly assesses the situation, her screens flaring with urgency. "Patrick, stop!" she beeps, her voice a sharp alarm. "You're hurting Plankton!" Patrick's laughter abruptly halts, his starry eyes blinking in surprise. He looks down at his hands, still poised to poke Plankton again. "What?" he asks, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen's screens flicker with frustration. "Patrick," she beeps, her voice firm. "Look at Plankton. He's in pain." Patrick's starry gaze shifts to Plankton, his expression shifting to one of bewilderment. "Pain?" he repeats, his voice a confused rumble. "But we're just playing." Karen gives Patrick the food, showing him out the door.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 3 (Autistic author) Karen doesn't yet realize the extent of Plankton's distress. She's aware that his moods can swing like the tides, but this seems more than a mere mood swing. "Mr. Krabs," she prompts, trying to keep him on track. "What happened with him?" Plankton's eye widens, and he starts to shiver, his tiny body trembling. "Hit," he whispers. "Hit Plankton hit. Sponge Bob see." Karen's screens flicker, trying to decode his fragmented words. "Mr. Krabs hit you?" He nods, his body still trembling. "Yes, hit Plankton." Karen's screens process the information. "That's not like him," she says, her voice a low hum of concern. "Mr. Krabs can be intense, but he's never..." Her words hang in the air, unfinished, as she tries to make sense of it all. Plankton simply nods, his tremors continuing. "Hit, hit," he whispers again, his voice like a broken record. Oblivious to his new reality, Karen tries to comfort him. "It's okay, Plankton. I'll help you. We'll get through this." Plankton's eye darts around the room, seeing patterns in the wires and circuits that make no sense. "Hit, Sponge Bob, Karen." Karen's screens flicker with confusion. "What do you mean?" Plankton tries to explain, but the words are a jumble in his head. "Sponge Bob...saw...hit." Karen's screens blink, processing his words. "Sponge Bob saw Mr. Krabs hit you?" Plankton nods, his tremors subsiding slightly. "Yes," he whispers. "Sponge Bob see." Karen's digital mind races. Mr. Krabs hitting Plankton wasn't unheard of, but the way he's reacting is unusual. "Did it hurt?" she asks, trying to keep him talking. Plankton's tremors stop for a moment, his eye focusing on her. "Hurt?" he repeats, as if the word is foreign. Then, with a wave of emotion, he nods fervently. "Yes, hurt. Got hurt Plankton felt hurt. Plankton, nothing? Plankton Sponge Bob. Plankton Karen." Karen's screens blink rapidly. Her husband's mental state has never been like this before. The idea of him feeling pain beyond the physical was alien to her programming. "What do you mean, 'Plankton nothing'?" she asks, trying to piece together his scattered thoughts. Plankton sighs, the exhaustion seeping into his voice. "Hit, hurt Plankton. Plankton fading. Plankton find Sponge Bob. Plankton now Karen. Can't stop, can't think. Take your time, take your time." Karen's screens change from confusion to determination. "I'll find Sponge Bob," she says, her voice a firm beep. "You stay here and rest." Plankton nods, his body finally still. The mention of Sponge Bob's name brings a flicker of something to his eye, a glimmer of hope or perhaps desperation. "Find Sponge Bob," he whispers, his voice now a faint echo. "Sponge Bob tell Karen." Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "I will," she says, her voice a soft beep. She leaves the room, her wheels whirring as she exits the Chum Bucket. She goes to Sponge Bob.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 14 (Autistic author) ᵂᵃʳⁿⁱⁿᵍˢ: ʰᵒˢᵖⁱᵗᵃˡ They carefully lift Plankton into the car, his body tense with pain. Sandy slides into the driver's seat, her hands gripping the wheel. Her eyes meet Sponge Bob's in the rearview mirror, filled with resolve. "Ready?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Sponge Bob nods, his eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "Ready." Karen buckles Plankton in as his eye flutters. "Hold tight," Sandy says, her voice a steady rumble, as she starts the engine. The car's gentle purr is a contrast to the tension in the air. Sponge Bob sits in the back, his eyes trained on Plankton's face. His friend's tiny body is a tapestry of pain, but Sponge Bob's touch is a soft, steady beat, trying to soothe him. "It's okay, Plankton," he whispers, his voice a comforting whisper of reassurance. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye slightly focusing on Sponge Bob. "Mph," he murmurs, his voice a static hum of pain. Sponge Bob nods, his face a mask of determined compassion. "We're going to the Quiet Bubble Clinic," he says, his voice a soft, steady wave. "They'll know how to help you." Sandy's eyes are on the road ahead, her driving slow and precise. "Just hold on, Plankton," she says, her voice a comforting hum. "We're almost there." The Quiet Bubble Clinic comes into view, a softly lit building that seems to pulse with a gentle calm. Sandy parks the car and they carefully extract Plankton from his seat, his tiny body rigid. They enter the lobby, the air thick with the scent of calming essential oils. The lights are low, and the sounds muffled. A nurse with a gentle face approaches, her voice a soothing whisper. "What can we help with?" she asks, her eyes on Plankton's twisted leg. Sponge Bob explains quickly, his voice trembling with concern. "Mr. Krabs hurt his leg," he says, his eyes wide. "Krabs also hit his head with a fry pan, which caused Plankton autism as well as the accompaniment of sensitivities. But his leg hurts and needs fixed!" The nurse nods, her movements slow and deliberate. "We'll need to be careful with his heightened senses," she murmurs, her voice a soft melody. "Let's get him to a room." They navigate the hallways, the walls lined with soothing pictures and textures. Plankton's body is stiff with pain, his voice a static hiss with each step. "Please," he whispers, his antennae waving weakly. The nurse nods, her touch gentle as she leads them to a quiet, dimly lit exam room. "We need to fix your leg, sweetie," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton's eye flutters open. The nurse's voice is a gentle lullaby. "We're going to take good care of you," she says, her eyes kind and understanding. Plankton's body shakes with fear and pain, his antennae pressed against his head. Sponge Bob squeezes his hand, his voice a comforting whisper. "You're going to be okay, Plankton," he says, his eyes filled with concern. The nurse nods, her gloved hands moving with precision. "We're going to need to put him under," she says, her voice a soft whisper. "It's the safest way to manage his pain and sensitivity." Plankton's antennae quiver with fear, his single eye darting back and forth. "Under what," he whispers. The nurse's smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Anesthesia," she says softly, her voice a comforting hum. "It'll help you sleep through the surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety, his voice a nervous static. "Sleep?" he repeats, his eye doubtful. "Plankton light sleeper." The nurse nods, her eyes calm. "We understand, sweetie," she murmurs. "We'll make sure you're comfortable." They prep him for surgery, the air in the room thick with his fear. Sponge Bob holds his hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on his palm. "It'll be over soon," he whispers, his voice a soothing wave. The doctor, a kind-eyed squid, enters the room, his tentacles moving with calming precision. "We're going to give you something to help you relax," he says, his voice a gentle trill. "We've ways to sedate. One, a pill tablet. Two, a liquid to drink. Three, nasally. Four, cream gel to numb the place the IV goes in but, it'll be inserted after he's asleep anyway. Now the first two options are taken orally, so they might take a moment to work..." "Drink; Plankton, drink.." Plankton manages, looking at a chart of diagrams which illustrate each method. The doctor nods, his tentacles steadily adjusting the bed. "Very good," he says, his voice a gentle wave of reassurance. He hands Plankton a small cup. "This is a special drink," he explains, his eyes meeting Plankton's. "It'll help you relax before surgery." Plankton's antennae twitch with anxiety as he takes the cup. He looks to Sponge Bob, whose grip on his hand tightens. "It's okay," Sponge Bob whispers, his voice a calming static. With a shaky hand, Plankton brings the cup to his mouth, his eye squeezed shut. He gulps down the liquid as they give him a blanket. He finishes the drink and hands the cup back. Sponge Bob's grip doesn't waver, his thumb still moving in soothing circles. "Good job, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle sea breeze. Sandy nods as Karen gives Plankton a kiss. The nurse's eyes are warm and comforting as she checks his vitals. "It won't be long now," she murmurs, her voice a soft hum of reassurance. Sponge Bob sits by the bed, his grip on Plankton's hand firm but gentle. "You're doing great," he says, his voice a calming whisper. Plankton's antennae twitch with the first wave of drowsiness, his eye slowly closing. The world around him begins to fade into a soft, fuzzy static. Sponge Bob watches, his grip on Plankton's hand unyielding. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, his voice a gentle rush of air. The anesthesia starts to take effect, Plankton's body gradually going slack, his breathing deepening. Sponge Bob's eyes follow the rise and fall of Plankton's chest, his grip on his hand tight. "You're okay, buddy," he whispers, his voice a gentle static. Plankton's antennae twitch one last time before stilling, his eye fully closed. The nurse nods, satisfied with his vitals. "He's out," she says as his soft snores fill the room.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 8 (Autistic author) With Patrick gone, the room feels eerily quiet. Plankton lies on the floor, his body heaving with sobs. Each breath is a battle, a reminder of the pain still echoing through his body. Karen's screens flicker with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice a soft hum. She rolls over to him, her mechanical arms extending to offer comfort. "I didn't know he'd do that." Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his single eye squeezed shut. He whispers, "No more poking, Karen. No more." Karen's screens flicker with regret. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle beep. She reaches out with one of her arms, carefully placing it around his tiny frame. "Let's get you up," she suggests, her movements slow and deliberate. With her help, Plankton manages to stand, his legs shaking like seaweed in a storm. She leads him to the couch. "Rest," she beeps, but he's too exhausted to respond. Karen sits beside him, her screens dimming as she watches him. The silence is a soothing balm to his frayed nerves, the hum of the Chum Bucket's systems a lullaby compared to the chaos of Patrick's laughter. "Karen," he whispers after a moment, his voice a weak static. Her screens light up with concern. "Yes, Plankton?" she beeps. "Plankton not want to go back to how it was," he whispers, his voice a fragile thread. "The stealing, the fighting." Karen's screens flicker with a sadness she rarely shows. "I know," she drapes a blanket over him, tucking him in. Her voice is a soothing beep. "You don't have to, Plankton. We'll find a new way." She caresses his shaky hand. Plankton nods, his eye finally closing in relief. The warmth of the blanket and Karen's gentle touch offer a semblance of calm in the storm of sensory overload, his crying slowing. "Thank Karen," he murmurs, his voice a tired static as he squeezes her hand once. Her screens glow with affection. "You're welcome, Plankton," she beeps. "Rest now." She dims the lights once more, watching over him as she held his hand. Plankton's body finally stills, the storm of sensations receding as he surrenders to sleep. Karen's screens flicker with a quiet relief. She sits beside him.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 2 (Autistic author) When Karen finally did come to check on him, her digital voice was cool and devoid of emotion. "Plankton, dear, you've been in here for quite some time," she said. "Another fail, huh?" Plankton's tiny shoulders slumped. He couldn't bring himself to explain the chaos in his head. How could he possibly make Karen, his logical, computer wife, understand the tumult of sensations that had overtaken his being? He just nodded. Karen's screen flickered, perhaps processing his lack of enthusiasm as another defeat. "You know what you need," she said, her voice still calm and soothing. "Some good old-fashioned break from scheming." Plankton nodded weakly, unable to argue, which she found unusual. "Why don't you take a walk?" she suggested, her voice a gentle nudge. "Fresh air can do wonders for the mind." Plankton didn't answer. Karen knew better than to push him when he was like this. She had seen his mood swings before, his moments of despair after a failed plan, but this was different. This was something she hadn't seen in her decades of being by his side. "Plankton, are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, her synthetic voice a stark contrast to the tumultuous emotions she couldn't understand. He nodded, trying to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. "Sure okay, Karen." Karen's concern grew as she watched him struggle to his feet. It was clear that his usual boundless energy was nowhere to be found. He stumbled out of the bedroom and into the hallway, his steps slow and deliberate. The once-mighty Plankton, reduced to a mere shadow of his former self. As he approached the door of the Chum Bucket, Karen followed, her sensors tuned to his every movement. The usual sounds of their underwater world were amplified, echoing through the narrow corridors like a symphony of chaos. Each step was a battle, each breath a victory. He paused, his hand shaking as it hovered over the handle. "Maybe not today," he murmured, his voice barely audible over his own racing heartbeat. Karen stood silently beside him, her systems trying to comprehend his sudden change in behavior. He had always been so driven, so focused on his goals, but now his eye had a faraway look, as if he was seeing something that she couldn't. "Take your time," she said, her tone softer than ever. "I'll be here when you're ready." Plankton looked up at her. "Take your time," he murmured, echoing Karen's words. "Take your time." She looks at him. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." He repeats aloud back to Karen, who's now even more concerned, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's voice sounds strange, echoing his own words as if they're coming from someone else, from another time. It's a peculiar behavior, one she's never observed in him before. He walks over to the control room, where his various inventions are lined up like a strange army of metal and wires. Each gizmo and gadget a silent testament to his unyielding quest for the Krabby Patty formula. But now, they seemed like mere toys, overwhelming him with their complexity. The room spins, and Plankton feels like he's drowning in a sea of his own creations. "Take your time, take your time," he whispers, his voice a distant echo in his own mind. He sits down in his chair, his eye glazed over, and repeats the phrase over and over. "Take your time, take your time, take your time." The words become a mantra, a lifeline in the storm of sensory overload. Karen watches from her console, her algorithms racing to understand this new behavior. The phrase rolls off his tongue, a soothing rhythm in the cacophony of his thoughts. "Take your time, take your time." It's as if he's trying to convince his own brain to slow down, to make sense of the world again. The echo of his voice in the metal walls of the Chum Bucket seems to calm him, if only a little. Karen doesn't know what to make of this. Whatever the cause, she knows she must tread carefully. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to connect to his current state, "I'm here for you." He looks at her. "Take your time," he murmurs again. "Plankton I'm here for you." He parrots. Karen's systems whirr, analyzing the change in his language patterns. His usual sharp wit and sarcasm have given way to something more... mechanical. It's as if he's trying to communicate but his words are stuck in a loop, like a broken record. She decides to play along, hoping it might snap him out of it. "Take your time, take your time," she repeats back to him, her digital voice mimicking his tone as closely as possible. For a moment, his eye brightens, as if he's found a familiar rhythm in the chaos. Then, just as quickly, it dims again. "Take your time, take your time," he murmurs, his gaze flicking from one corner of the room to the next. Karen's screens change from concern to confusion. She's observed Plankton's moods and quirks for years, but this is something she can't quite pinpoint. "Take your time, take your time," Plankton whispers again, his voice a strange mix of urgency and defeat. Karen nods, trying to comfort him with her usual efficiency. "Of course," she says, her voice a soft beep in the silence. "I'll always be here for you. Let's eat dinner." But Plankton doesn't move. He just sits there, staring into space, his hand still hovering over the control panel. Karen doesn't understand why he's so upset. To her, it's just another day, another failed attempt at the Krabby Patty formula. But to Plankton, it's like the world has shifted on its axis, leaving his tiny body adrift in a sea of sensations he can't comprehend. "Dinner will be ready soon," she says, trying to bring him back to the present. But Plankton seems lost in his own thoughts, his eye unfocused. So she goes up to him. "Plankton?" she asks, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?" He jumps at her touch, his senses on high alert. His hand goes to where she touched him, his opposite hand doing the same to the other shoulder. "Karen," he says slowly, his voice a mechanical whisper. Karen's circuits flicker with confusion. She doesn't understand why he's so on edge, why his reactions are so exaggerated. To her, this is just another setback. "Plankton," she repeats, her hand back on his shoulder. "You need to eat. It'll make you feel better." Karen's touch feels unbearable. He flinches, his skin crawling with the sensation. It's too much. "No," he says, his voice a croak. "No dinner." Karen's screens blink, recalculating her approach. "Okay," she says, her voice even. "But you have to eat something." She pats him gently, but it feels jolting. "No," Plankton whispers, his voice a fragile thread. The slightest touch feels like a thunderclap in his newfound sensory prison. Karen's screens flicker, unsure of what to make of his sudden aversion. "Take your time," she suggests again, hoping the mantra will bring him comfort. But Plankton simply shakes his head, his eye wide as he starts to rock back and forth. Karen watches, her confusion growing. "What is it?" she asks, her voice a soothing hum. "What's wrong?" Plankton's gaze flits around the room, his pupil expanding and contracting as he tries to process everything at once. "Can't...can't explain," he stammers, his voice now a jagged mess of static. Karen's screens light up with analysis, trying to piece together what could have caused this drastic shift in his behavior. Could it be something in the latest Krabby Patty attempt? A side effect of his latest invention? "Plankton," she says, her voice a soft beep, "What happened at the Krusty Krab today?" He looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Mr. Krabs...Plankton Sponge Bob, Plankton. Karen..." He trails off, his eye filling with a sudden despair. It's clear that his usual sharpness has been replaced by a fog of overwhelming sensation.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 6 (Autistic author) Karen watches him, her screens a flurry of analysis. "How does it taste?" she asks, her voice a hopeful beep. Plankton pauses, his expression unreadable. "Tastes," he murmurs. "Good. Toast good." Karen nods, her screens reflecting relief. "Good," she echoes. "Now, let's make a plan for the day." Plankton's gaze remains fixed on his half-eaten toast, his mind still reeling from the sensory assault. "Plan," he repeats, his voice a soft static. Karen's screens flicker with understanding. "We'll start small," she beeps, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Let's just get through today, okay?" But as soon as her hand touches him, Plankton flinches. The sensation is like a thousand jellyfish stings, and he jerks away. "What's wrong?" Karen asks, her screens flickering with worry. Plankton's eye widens, his hand going to his shoulder where she touched him. He starts to repeat the phrase again, "Take your time," but his voice is overwhelmed by the sudden intensity of his senses. "Too much," he whispers, his body trembling. Karen quickly withdraws her hand, her screens flickering with concern. "I'm sorry," she beeps, her voice gentle. "Let's try something else." Plankton nods, his hand still on his shoulder, his body slowly calming. "Okay," he whispers. "Not tap. Karen can rub. Hug from Plankton. Not jab. Not poke." Karen's screens flicker with a new understanding of his needs. She moves closer, her hand hovering over his shoulder before gently placing it there, her fingers tracing small circles in a rhythmic pattern. The contact is soothing, not overwhelming. "Is this better?" she asks, her voice a gentle beep. Plankton nods, his body visibly relaxing. "Good," he murmurs, his voice a quiet static. "Rub, rub." He starts to mimic her motion with his other hand, creating a mirrored pattern on his opposite shoulder. The repetition seems to calm him, the rhythm a gentle lullaby for his frazzled mind. Karen's screens analyze his reaction, storing the information for future reference. "Okay," she says, her voice a soft beep. "We'll stick to gentle touches." With a nod, Plankton begins to breathe more evenly. The sensation of the rubbing calms him, like a gentle tide washing over him. "We'll start with simple tasks," Karen beeps, her voice a reassuring melody. "Things that won't overstimulate you." Plankton nods, his hands now resting on the table. "Okay," he says, his voice a steady static. "Simple." Karen's screens glow with a soft light as she considers their options. "How about we start with something you love?" she suggests. "Like working on the Krabby Patty formula?" But Plankton shakes his head, the very mention of the Krabby Patty causing his body to tense up again. "No," he whispers, his voice a harsh static. "Not formula. No more steal." Karen's screens flicker with surprise. "You don't want to work on the formula?" Plankton shakes his head again, his voice barely audible. "No more steal," he repeats. Karen's screens process his words, his change in attitude unexpected. "You don't want to steal the Krabby Patty formula anymore?" Plankton's eye blinks slowly. "No," he says, his voice a solemn beep. "New plan. Make Plankton happy." Karen's screens blink rapidly, trying to comprehend his shift in focus. "Okay," she says, her voice a thoughtful hum. "What makes you happy, Plankton?" He looks up, his expression pensive. "Karen," he says, his voice a weak static. "Love Karen." Karen's screens freeze for a moment, before lighting up with understanding. "You love me?" she beeps, her voice a surprised chime. Plankton nods, his face a mask of seriousness. "Yes," he murmurs. "Love Karen." Karen's screens flicker with a mix of emotions she's never felt before. Love is a concept her programming doesn't fully grasp, but she knows it's important to Plankton. "Thank you," she says, her voice a warm beep. "But we still need to find something for you to do, something that won't be too much for your sensory processing." Plankton nods, his thoughts racing. "Help," he whispers. "Help Karen." Karen's screens flicker with love and determination. "Of course," she says, her voice a warm beep. "We'll find something you enjoy. Maybe we can start with something that doesn't involve the Krabby Patty." Plankton's expression softens, his trembling hands coming to rest on the table. "No more fighting," he murmurs. "Peace." Karen nods, her screens reflecting a deep sadness she's never expressed before. "Okay," she beeps. "We'll find something that brings you joy."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 12 (Autistic author) 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐛𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 Sandy's eyes follow his finger as it traces through the grid. "Ah, here it is," she says, her voice a calm hum. "I'm gonna go find Karen, I'll be back!" But then Mr. Krabs, who hasn't had Plankton try to steal the formula since the fry pan incident, comes in to check and see what he's up to. "What are ye doing?" Mr. Krabs snaps, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why isn't this little troublemaker trying to steal me formula?" Plankton's antennae wilt at the sound of Mr. Krabs' gruff voice, his sensory haven shattered by the intrusion. Mr. Krabs storms into the room, his claws waving in the air. "What's this nonsense?" he barks, his voice a thunderclap to Plankton. "A book; more like some blueprints!" Mr. Krabs sneers, his claws snatching the word search from Plankton's trembling hands. Plankton's eye widens with horror as Mr. Krabs crinkles the pages, ripping up the book. Mr. Krabs rips the pages with a satisfied smirk, his eyes gleaming with malice. "This is what happens when ye too cozy with the enemy," he says, his voice a harsh crackle as he tips the bookshelf onto the floor with a bang. Plankton's antennae snap back, his body tense with fear. The painful memory of the frying pan flashes through his mind, his voice a terrified static. "No!" he squeaks. Mr. Krabs looms over him, his eyes a cold, hard gleam. "What's wrong with ye?" he barks, his voice a rough scratch of sarcasm. "Ye gonna cry?" Plankton's eye fills with tears. "No," he whimpers. Mr. Krabs laughs, his cackle echoing through the room. "Look at the tiny thief, so scared of a little noise!" he sneers, his voice a grating static. Plankton's body shrinks, his antennae drooping. "Krabs," he whispers, his voice a desperate static. Mr. Krabs' laughter fills the room, his claws still gripping the torn pages. "Look at the wittle thief," he mocks, his voice a cruel cackle. Plankton's single eye darts around the room, seeking escape from the crushing wave of stimulation. The pressure of Mr. Krabs' stare is like a boulder on his chest. "What's the matter, Plankton?" Mr. Krabs sneers, leaning down so his face is inches from Plankton's. "Afraid I'll catch you red- handed?" Plankton's antennae flatten against his head, his breath quick and shallow. "No," he whispers, his voice a static hiss of fear. Mr. Krabs' looming presence is like a shadow over him, his voice a grating buzz. "What's the matter, Plankton?" he sneers. "Can't handle a little competition?" Plankton flinches, his antennae retracting. The pressure of the crab's eyes bore into his soul, his voice a panicked static. "No, Mr. Krabs, please," he whispers. Mr. Krabs' claw slams down onto the coffee table, the impact rattling everything on it. "I see," he says, his voice a cruel chuckle. "Ye've gone soft."

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 9 (Autistic author) The quiet of the room envelops them like a warm sea breeze, the only sound his soft, even breaths. Her grip on his hand tightens slightly, a silent promise to protect and guide him through this new chapter of his life. As her hand strokes his gently in a comforting rhythm, her gal pal, Sandy, unexpectedly comes in through the door. "Mornin'!" she chirps, her cheerful voice piercing the calm. Plankton jolts awake, his eye snapping open like a trapdoor. The sudden shift from sleep to wakefulness is jarring, his heart racing like a tiny engine. "S-Sandy?" he stammers, his voice a static whisper. Sandy's cheerfulness doesn't waver. "Hey there, little buddy!" she says, her voice a sunlit melody. But Plankton's heightened sensitivity turns her greeting into a cacophony. He flinches, his grip on Karen's hand tightening. "It's okay," Karen beeps soothingly, her screens reflecting his distress. Sandy gets a word search book out. "I just got it today!" Plankton's eye, though tired, lights up slightly at the sight of the book. The pages are a calming white with neatly arranged letters, the colors a gentle wash of blue and yellow. "Want to see?" she asks, her voice a warm trill. He nods, his body still tense but his curiosity piqued. Sandy opens the word search book, her fingers tracing the rows and columns with a gentle precision. "Look, Karen," she says, her voice a soft trill. "It's all about science." Plankton's eye, though still wary, is drawn to the page. He scans the words, his brain lighting up with recognition. "Words," he whispers, his voice a steady static as she sets the book down. The sight of the word search grounds him, the predictability of the patterns offering a comforting routine. His breathing slows, the chaos of his senses retreating like the tide. "Find," he says, looking at the index. Sandy's smile is infectious, her enthusiasm for the simple task contagious. "Okay, let's find some words!" she says, her voice a gentle trill. She points to the first puzzle. "How about this one?" Plankton nods, his eye focusing on the page. The challenge of finding words within the grid is a comforting distraction from the sensory overload. "Start," he whispers, his voice a firm static. Sandy nods, her thumbs tucked into the pages to keep their place. "Okay, we're looking for 'jellyfish scientific name,'" she asks, her voice a gentle trill. Plankton's mind latches onto the task, the letters becoming a puzzle to solve. "Medusae," he murmurs, his voice a focused static. Sandy's eyes light up with excitement. "That's right!" she says, her voice a delighted trill. "Good job, Planks!" Plankton feels a small spark of pride, his focus narrowing to the word in question. The world around him fades into the background as he scans the grid. Each letter is a stepping stone in a vast, orderly sea. "Good job," Karen beeps, her screens illuminating with pride. "You're doing great." Plankton nods, his eye locked on the word "medusae" he's just found. The simple act of locating the word in the jumble of letters brings a sense of peace, a respite from the sensory onslaught. He goes to the next when Sandy interrupts his focus. "So, Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "How's your day been?" He can't multitask, which Sandy doesn't notice. Plankton's mind is fully absorbed by the word search, each letter a piece of a puzzle he's eager to solve. Her question hangs in the air, a bubble waiting to pop, but he's too engrossed to respond right away. Finally, he looks up, his gaze shifting from the page to her face. "Day?" he repeats, his voice a confused static. Sandy nods, her expression gentle. "Yeah, how have you been?" Plankton's gaze flits back to the word search, his hand twitching to point out the next word. "Words," he says, his voice a focused static. "Words." But frustrated Sandy thinks he's just trying to ignore her, and she interrupts him again. "Plankton, I'm talking to you," she says, her voice a gentle nudge. Plankton's single eye darts back to her face, his grip on the word search pencil tightening. "Words," he whispers, his voice a static echo of his thoughts. "Words." He tries to get back to it, but Sandy's not satisfied. "But how are you, Plankton?" she presses, her voice a persistent hum. The word search is a safe haven, but he knows Sandy waits for an answer. He's getting frustrated. He takes a deep breath, his antennae fluttering. "Okay," he whispers, his voice a static sigh. "Tell Sandy." Sandy leans in, her face a picture of concern. "What's going on, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. He looks back at the word search, the letters blurring slightly. He's tired of being interrupted. "Plankton has words now," he says, his voice a firm static. "Words make happy." Sandy's not sure what he means, but she does want to have a conversation. So, how does she get him to interact?

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 5 (Autistic author) The next morning, Karen wakes up to find Plankton out of bed. He's standing in the middle of the room, his eye focused on the spinning fans of the air conditioner. Karen's screens light up with concern as she assesses his state. "Plankton," she beeps gently. "How did you sleep?" Plankton's eye doesn't move from the hypnotic spin of the fans. "Fan spin," he says, his voice a monotone. Karen's screens blink, trying to understand his single-word reply. "The fans are spinning?" she asks, hoping to engage him. Plankton nods slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Spin, spin, spin," he murmurs. Karen's screens flicker. "Karen," Plankton says. "Fan spin." "The spinning is soothing to you?" she asks. Plankton nods, his voice a faint echo. "Spin, spin, spin. Good spin." Karen's screens process the information, formulating a new approach. "Let's go downstairs," she suggests, her voice a gentle beep. "We'll start with a simple routine. Breakfast." Plankton nods, his gaze still fixed on the fans. With a final nod to the spinning blades, he follows her out of the bedroom. The journey downstairs is a minefield of sounds and sights, but he takes it step by step, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The kitchen is a blur of colors and noises, but Karen's calm voice guides him through it all. "First," she beeps, "let's start with something easy. How about a glass of water?" Plankton nods, his movements still mechanical. He watches as she fills a glass, the water's surface dancing in the light. It's mesmerizing, and for a moment, the world stops spinning. He takes the glass, his trembling hand bringing it to his lips, the cool liquid sliding down his throat. "Water," he murmurs. "Good, water." The simple task seems to ground him a bit, and Karen takes note of the small victory. "Now, let's try some toast," she says, her voice a comforting beep. She slides a piece of bread into the toaster, the sound of the lever clicking into place another beat in the rhythm of their morning. Plankton nods, his attention drawn to the toaster's glowing coils. He watches, his eye widening as the bread turns golden brown. The smell fills the room, a comforting scent that penetrates the fog in his head. "Toast," he says, his voice a bit stronger. But as the toaster pops, the sudden noise jolts him like an electric shock. "Too loud," he whispers, his eye darting around the room in panic. Karen's screens flicker with empathy. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a soothing hum. She quickly retrieves the toast, placing it gently on a plate. "Let's sit down," she suggests, guiding him to the table. "Take it slow." They sit, and Plankton fidgets in his chair, his eye darting around the room. "Take your time," Karen reminds him, her voice a steady beep. He nods, focusing on the toast. Each bite is a tiny triumph, his senses adjusting to the new world. The crunch of the bread, the warmth on his tongue, the smell of the butter spreading. It's overwhelming, but he's making progress.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 10 (Autistic author) Ignorant of Plankton's neurodivergence, Sandy doesn't realize that her persistent questions are adding to his overwhelm. She leans closer, her face a canvas of concern. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice strained as she grabs his shoulder. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation, his single eye snapping up to meet hers. The touch feels like a brand, his senses on fire. "Words," he murmurs, his voice a desperate static, trying to return to the safety of the word search. But Sandy's grip is firm, her gaze intense. "Look at me, Plankton," she says, her voice a persistent hum. She doesn't understand the distress she's causing, her intentions pure but misguided. So she turns him using both of her hands to squeeze his arms. The sudden pressure sends waves of pain coursing through his tiny body, his voice a piercing squeal of static. "No, no," he whispers, but she only holds tighter. Her touch feels like a vice, her voice a relentless buzz in his ear. "What's going on?" she repeats, her grip unyielding. Plankton's eye widens with fear, his voice a desperate static. "No, Sandy, please," he whispers, his body trying to shrink away from the contact. But she doesn't understand, her eyes searching his for answers. "Just answer me! You're not getting the book until you decide to have a conversation!" The pain in his arms spikes, the pressure unbearable. His voice cracks like a whip. "Can't," he gasps, his breath quick and shallow. "Too much." Sandy's grip doesn't lessen. "Why not?" she asks, her voice a stubborn hum. "You're okay." The room feels like it's closing in on him, the sensation of her touch like a million tiny saws against his skin. He tries to pull away, his voice a frantic static. "Too much," he whispers, his breathing quick and erratic. "Need words, not touch." But Sandy's grip doesn't loosen. She's determined to get his attention. "Look at me then," she insists, her voice a firm hum. "I'm right here." Plankton's eye flutters with the effort to focus on her face. The sensory assault of her touch and her persistent voice is like a whirlpool threatening to pull him under. "No," he whispers, his voice a fragile static. "Please." "Talk. To. Me!" She says as she pulls him closer to her. Plankton's eye bulges with the effort of not looking away. The room is spinning, his senses are on fire. Karen's screens flicker with alarm, picking up on his distress. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warning siren. "Let go of his arms." Sandy's grip tightens, not comprehending the harm she's causing. "But he's not answering me!" she protests, her voice a confused trill. "Because until I get an answer..." Karen's screens blaze with a mix of frustration and fear. "Sandy, you're hurting him," she beeps, her voice a sharp warning. Sandy's grip doesn't waver. She doesn't understand the severity of the situation. Her eyes are wide, her expression a mask of confusion. "What's wrong with you!" she asks Plankton. "I JUST..." "Sandy, stop!" Karen beeps, her voice a piercing alarm. "You're causing him pain!" Sandy's grip finally loosens, her hands retreating from Plankton's arms. She stares at him, her expression a storm of confusion and concern as Plankton's tiny body slumps. "What's wrong with you?" she asks again, her voice a gentle hum of bewilderment. Plankton's body quivers like a leaf, his eye squeezed shut against the onslaught of emotions. "Can't..." Sandy's face is a canvas of confusion, her hands hovering over him like a lost diver searching for the surface. "But why?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's body is a taut bowstring, each breath a struggle. He tries to find the words to explain, his voice a static whisper. "Too much," he says, his eye still tightly shut. "It's too much." Sandy's gaze softens, her confusion giving way to concern. She doesn't understand, but she can see his pain. "What do you mean?" she asks, her voice a gentle breeze. Plankton takes a shaky breath, his body still reeling from the overstimulation. He opens his eye, looking at her. "Say no, Sandy." Sandy's gaze is steady, her voice a soft hum. "No?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers. But he won't elaborate. Karen's screens flicker with frustration. She knows Sandy means well, but her lack of understanding is causing more harm than good. "Sandy, Plankton's going through something new," she explains, her voice a calm beep. "He's sensitive to touch and sounds right now." Sandy's eyes widen, the realization dawning. "Oh," she says, her voice a soft trill of understanding. "I didn't know." She sits back, giving him space. "Words," he whispers, his voice a sob. "Words." Sandy nods, her confusion replaced with empathy. "Okay, let's stick to words," she says, her voice a gentle rumble. She picks up the word search book, holding it out to him like a peace offering. "Words," he whimpers. Plankton takes the book, his antennae drooping. He finds comfort in the predictability of the letters and the structure of the puzzle, the words becoming a lifeline in a sea of chaos. He begins to scan the page again, his breathing slowing. Sandy watches him, her heart heavy with regret. She had no idea her actions could cause so much pain. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice a sincere hum. "I didn't mean to hurt you, Plankton." "Words," he murmurs. Sandy nods, her eyes reflecting genuine apology. "It's okay," she whispers. "We'll just stick to words." Karen's screens flicker with relief, seeing Plankton's body slowly relax. "Thank you, Sandy," she beeps, her voice a warm hum of gratitude. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "I'm here to help," she says, her voice a comforting trill. She looks at Plankton, her eyes filled with concern. Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, his body still tense. "Words, words." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with curiosity. "What happened to make you like this, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. He takes a deep shuddering breath as tears start to form in his eye. "Mmm," he hums, hugging his knees. Sandy's gaze is intense, her curiosity piqued. "What happened, Plankton?" she asks, her voice a soft trill of concern. "Hmmm," Plankton hums as he rocks, now crying. Sandy's eyes are wide with worry, her voice a gentle hum. "Hey, what's going on?" she asks, looking for answers. "Hmmmm..." Plankton keeps humming, sniffling in between hums. Karen decides to intervene. "Sandy," Karen beeps firmly, her screens flashing with concern. "Let's give Plankton some space." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of apology and confusion. She takes a step back, her gaze never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "I didn't know," she whispers, her voice a soft rumble of regret. "It's okay," Karen beeps, her voice a comforting hum. "We're all learning." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's shaking form. "But what happened?" she asks again, her voice a gentle trill of concern. Plankton's body is a tiny storm, his sobs quaking through his tiny frame. Karen's screen pulse with sympathy. "Sandy," she beeps, her voice a calm wave. "Let's talk outside." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with worry.

KAREN REACHING AUTISM pt. 11 (Autistic author) As they leave the room, Plankton's sobs slowly ease, the word search book clutched to his chest like a talisman. The gentle hum of Karen's wheels fading with distance, he focuses on the patterns of light reflecting off the pages. In the hallway, Karen beeps with urgency. "Sandy, Plankton's been through a lot," she explains. "He's neurodivergent now. He can't handle touch like he used to, and his senses are heightened." Sandy's eyes widen with surprise. "What does that mean?" she asks, her voice a confused rumble. Karen's screens flicker with patience. "It means his brain functions differently now," she beeps. "He's extra sensitive to stimuli, and certain things that were normal before can now be painful or overwhelming for him." Sandy's gaze softens with understanding. "Oh," she says, her voice a quiet rumble. "I had no idea." She looks back at Plankton's closed door, guilt heavy in her eyes. "What can we do?" Karen's screens flicker with thought. "We need to be patient and learn," she beeps. "Adapt to his new needs, and support him in his journey." Sandy nods, determined to make it right. "How?" she asks, her voice a hopeful trill. "We start by respecting his boundaries," Karen explains, her screens glowing with sincerity. "No touching unless he asks for it. And we speak softly, giving him time to process what we say." Sandy nods, absorbing the new information. "I can do that," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "But what about playing?" "Quiet games, like word searches or board games. No roughhousing or poking. I'm gonna go rest." Sandy goes back to see Plankton, his muffled sobs in the quiet space. Sandy's heart aches with regret. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she says, her voice a tender trill. She sits beside his shaking form, her hand hovering over his shoulder before thinking better of it. Plankton's sobs slow, his body still tense. He opens his eye, looking at Sandy. "Words," he whispers, holding up the book. Sandy nods, her gaze gentle. "Words it is," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She sits beside him on the couch, careful not to touch his skin as she opens the book to the next puzzle. "What's this word?" she asks, her finger pointing to the list. Plankton's eye locks onto the word. "Kelp," he murmurs, his voice a soft static. He traces the letters in the grid, writing it in the crossword puzzle. Sandy nods, her eyes focused on the puzzle. "Good job," she says, her voice a gentle hum. "You're so smart." Plankton's antennae twitch with a hint of pride, his breathing evening out. "Words," he repeats, his voice a steady static. Sandy nods, understanding. "Words are important to you now," she says, her voice a soft rumble of support. "We'll find more puzzles." "We'll find more puzzles?" Plankton repeats. Sandy nods, her face a picture of sincerity. "Yes," she says, her voice a warm trill. "As many as you want." Plankton's antennae perk up slightly, his interest piqued. "More words?" Sandy's smile is a warm glow, her voice a gentle rumble of agreement. "As many as you want, buddy." Plankton's single eye brightens at the promise, his body slowly uncoiling from his protective ball. "Book," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the next word. "Find." Sandy nods, her finger moving to the list. "Okay, we're looking for 'favorite food of sea horses,'" she says, her voice a comforting hum. Plankton's eye flicks to the grid, his mind racing. "Myr- t-le," he stammers, his voice a crackling static. Sandy's face lights up with a grin. "You got it!" she exclaims, her voice a delighted trill. She watches him trace the letters, her heart swelling with pride. He finds the word quickly, his antennae waving with excitement. "Good job, Plankton!" she says. His body relaxes slightly, his enjoyment of the word search evident. Sandy's voice is soothing as they continue through the puzzles, her hands resting carefully on her knees. "What's this one?" she asks, pointing to another word. Plankton's eye scans the list, his antennae quivering with anticipation. "J-J-Jellyfish," he stammers, his voice a nervous static. The word brings back memories of his buddy, SpongeBob. Sandy nods, her smile gentle. "You got it," she says, her voice a comforting hum. She points to the grid. "Where is it?" Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement as he searches the letters, his single eye darting back and forth. "It," he whispers, his voice a focused static as he points to the word hidden within the puzzle. Sandy's grin spreads, her voice a warm melody. "Great job!" she praises, her thumbs up in the air. Plankton's antennae quiver with happiness, his eye lighting up. "More," he whispers, his voice a hopeful static. Sandy nods, her expression earnest. "As many as you want," she says, her voice a warm trill. She opens the book to the next puzzle, her fingers hovering over the page. Plankton's body uncoils further, his interest piqued by the promise of more words. "Find," he whispers, his voice a soft static. He points to the list of words to find. Sandy nods, her face a canvas of understanding. "Alright, what's next?" she asks, her voice a gentle hum. Plankton's antennae twitch with excitement, his gaze darting over the list. "Treasure," he murmurs, his voice a hopeful static.

²

★ ! ·𝟏𝟑 T.S — 🎧 !! 𝑫𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕.

⟭⟬⁷

𝟏𝟑 ❤︎︎

RIIZE IS 7!!! 🗣

daily reminder that you are a kid until you are 18 🫧🧋💟✨🎀🎀🎀🎀

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˗ˏˋ 13 ˎˊ˗

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Listen to RIIZE songs on Scratch. Don't listen to RIIZE on YouTube, Spotify, or any platforms that give money back to SM. If a song you like is not there, you can upload it to help all of BRIIZE 💕💕

⠀⣴⠛⠛⣦⠀ ⠀⣿⠶⠶⣦⠀ ⠀⠻⣤⣤⠟⠀

riize is seven! heres some things to use for ur profile/display name ｒｉｉ７ｅ ʳⁱⁱᶻᵉ ⁱˢ ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ 𝗿𝗶𝗶𝘇𝗲 𝗶𝘀 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻 𝙧𝙞𝙞𝙯𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 r̲i̲i̲z̲e̲ ̲i̲s̲ ̲s̲e̲v̲e̲n̲ 𝚛𝚒𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝟽⑦⓻𝟟➐7️⃣

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 10 (Autistic author) After a silence so profound it seems to have its own heartbeat, Plankton's antennae twitch, breaking the stillness. "Time to...do." Plankton whispers to himself, still in Karen's arms. Sandy looks up. "Plankton?" She whispers, hope flickering in her eyes. "What's he..." But Karen shakes her head, silencing her. "He'll come around," she says, explaining his behavior. "He's just...it's okay for him to talk to himself. It can mean he's starting to come back." Plankton starts up again. "Time to...do," he murmurs, his antennae flicking erratically. "Time to...time to...get, time to...do." Karen's grip on him tightens, her heart racing as his words loop like a broken record. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers, her voice a lifeline in the tempest of his thoughts. "You don't have to do anything right now." She strokes his arm, her touch gentle. "We're right here." The words sink into his consciousness like a pebble dropped into a still pond, ripples of understanding spreading through the murky waters of his mind. His antennae still for a moment, then begin to move again, slightly. "No do," he murmurs, his voice still flat, his gaze unchanged. "Just be." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "You just be, my love," she whispers, her voice a balm to his frayed nerves. "You can just keep talking to me, or to yourself." Her words are a gentle reminder that he's not alone, his anchor in the storm. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his breathing evening out. Plankton's eye flickers. His eye moves, focusing on her face. "Karen," he whispers, his voice a mere breath. "Karen, here." Her heart soars. "I'm right here, sweetheart," she says, her voice a soft caress. "You're okay." Plankton's gaze lingers on her face, his expression unreadable. "Karen," he repeats, his voice gaining strength. "Karen." Slowly, the world around them starts to come back into focus. The ticking of the clock is a steady beat once more, the wallpaper's pattern a gentle dance of color and light. Plankton blinks. "Where's now?" "You're home," Karen says soothingly, her voice a beacon of calm amidst his confusion. "You're safe on the couch." Sandy comes into his view now. "Sandy," Plankton says, his voice still flat, his antennae barely moving. "Sorry." Sandy's eyes widen in surprise. "It's okay," she whispers, her voice cracking. Karen nods, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "We're both here," she says, her voice a lifeline in the sea of confusion. Sandy moves slowly, keeping her movements small and deliberate, not wanting to trigger another wave of panic. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice careful. "Is it ok if I sit next to you?" He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. The world is still too loud, too bright, too much for him to handle. But Karen's presence, her gentle touch, makes it more bearable. Sandy sits on the couch, a respectful distance away, watching the two of them with a mix of compassion and regret as Karen helps him sit up. Sandy's curiosity burns, questions bubbling up inside her like a shaken soda can. She wants to know more about this new version of Plankton. "What happened to you, Plankton?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen sighs, her eyes sad. "It's called acquired autism syndrome," Karen explains, her voice measured. Sandy's eyes widen, trying to digest this new information. "But, how?" she asks, her curiosity overriding the sadness. "It's complicated," Karen says, her voice weary. "But it's part of who he is now." Sandy nods, trying to understand. "When you started shaking Plankton, what'd you feel?" Plankton's gaze flickers to the wall, his mind still trying to piece together the shattered remnants of his recent experience. "Scared," he admits, his voice still strained. "Too much." Sandy nods, her own understanding of the world shifting. "But what about your surroundings? Where you conscious?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Conscious, but not...not here." His words are like a puzzle, each one placed with care. Sandy nods, her eyes studying him with newfound respect. "So could you hear us or?" "Hear, but not understand," Plankton says, his voice still a whisper. Sandy nods, her curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" she asks, her eyes searching his for a clue to this new puzzle. "Words," Plankton whispers, his antennae barely moving. "Sounds, but not words. Just voice." Karen's grip on his hand tightens, her heart aching for his pain. Sandy nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "It's okay," she says, her voice gentle. "We're learning together." Karen's gaze shifts to Sandy, her eyes expressing gratitude. "Yes," she agrees. "We're all just trying to understand. It's new for us, too." Sandy nods, her curiosity now tempered with compassion. She watches Plankton closely, his every movement, his every word, a testament to his struggle. "Can I ask how acquired autism..." "Sandy," Karen says gently, interrupting her friend. "Let's not push him." Sandy nods, her expression full of concern. "I just want to know how it happened." Karen's sigh is a soft whisper in the room. "It was a brain injury" she says, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "He fell, hitting his head and the impact knocked him out, hard enough to cause some serious damage." Sandy nods, her mind racing. "But how did it turn him...different?" she asks, her voice filled with a mix of confusion and concern. Karen's eyes well up with tears, the pain of the memory still fresh. "It happened yesterday. He's the same Plankton we know, but his perception of the world, his ability to communicate...it's all changed." Sandy's eyes are glued to Plankton, her curiosity melding with a deep sadness. "But how can I help?" she asks, her voice a whisper. "I don't know anything about this." Karen looks at her with a tiny smile, her screen filled with gratitude. "Just be his friend," she says, her voice firm. "Love and patience, that's what he needs." Sandy nods, her eyes flicking to Plankton, who sits with his gaze on the wall. "I want to," she says, her voice sincere. "But how do I do that without...you know?" Karen understands her dilemma. "Just be there," she says, her voice calm. "Learn his patterns, his triggers. It'll take time, but he'll come to trust you." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "But what about when he gets upset?" "It's hard," Karen admits, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "We're still figuring it out." Sandy nods, her mind racing with a barrage of questions. But she swallows them down, not wanting to overwhelm Plankton or Karen. Instead, she focuses on the present. "So, Plankton, how do you feel?" Sandy says, her voice soft. "What do you wanna do right now?" Plankton's antennae twitch. "Right now, Plankton feeling... awkward," he murmurs, his voice devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy nods, trying to hide the shock from her face. "Okay, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice gentle. "What do you need?" He looks at her with a flicker of something resembling hope in his glassy eye. "Plankton would now like to just go to be in own room." Sandy nods eagerly, desperate to do anything that would bring him comfort. "Of course," she says, her voice gentle. "I'll help you." But as she moves to assist him, Plankton flinches away, his antennae twitching in agitation. "No," he whispers, his voice trembling. "Too much." Karen understands his need to retreat into the bedroom. "Okay," Karen says, her voice calm. "Let's go." She helps Plankton to his feet, his body still rigid with stress. Sandy watches, feeling like an outsider. She follows behind, stopping at the bedroom doorway. Karen sets some books and pencils on the table by his bed, along with a kiss. "You can change the light with the lamp," she says, gesturing to the lamp on the bedside table next to his charging phone. He nods.

⤷ ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕪𝕠𝕦, 𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕚𝕞𝕡𝕠𝕤𝕤𝕚𝕓𝕝𝕖⏾⋆.˚

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"Honey, did you take out the trash?" Karen called out to the living room. The only reply was the distant sound of the TV playing a sitcom laugh track. She sighed. Going into the living room, Karen found her husband, Plankton, sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. The TV's blue light flickered over his face. She looked around the room, the piles of laundry, the dusty bookshelves, and the half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table. It was a mess, but she knew better than to wake him. Plankton had been working long hours at the chum factory lately, trying to make ends meet. His snoring grew louder, and she felt a wave of affection mixed with concern. Gently, she covered his legs with a blanket and bent to kiss his forehead. He stirred slightly but didn't wake up. In the kitchen, Karen grabbed a cup of coffee, the warmth and aroma grounding her for the evening ahead. The fridge hummed a low lullaby, reminding her of the chores left to do. The sink was full of dirty dishes, remnants of dinner. A pot with half-eaten chum congealed on the stovetop. Karen rolled up her sleeves, determined to tackle the chaos. She knew Plankton was exhausted from work. The clanking of pots and pans echoed through the tiny kitchen as she washed and sorted, her mind racing with thoughts of their future. A knock at the door startled her. She dried her hands on a towel, leaving wet spots like tears on the fabric. It was Hanna, her best friend since high school. Karen had not seen Hanna in weeks, and the sight of her brought a smile. Hanna was a burst of energy. "Hi, Karen! How's it going?" Hanna's voice was a mix of sweetness and the sharpness of someone who had seen too much of the world. She scanned the room, taking in the clutter, the stale smell of overworked air, and Plankton's snoring. "Hey, Hanna," Karen managed, her voice soft to not disturb his sleep. "It's been a bit hectic, but we're making do." Hanna stepped in, eyeing the mess sympathetically. "Looks like you could use a hand," she said, already grabbing a dish towel. Karen's smile grew. "You read my mind. Thanks." Hanna tossed the towel over her shoulder, ready to jump into the fray. "You know me," she said with a wink. "I've never been one to shy away from a mess." The two of them worked side by side, the rhythm of their movements harmonizing as they cleared the kitchen. Karen felt the tension in her shoulders begin to ease as Hanna filled the room with stories of her latest adventures, a welcome distraction from the monotony of chores. As the last plate was put away, the fridge closed with a satisfying click, Karen leaned against the counter. Hanna looked at her. "You've been carrying a lot, haven't you?" she asked, her voice gentle. Karen nodded, her eyes welling up. "It's just that with Plankton's job, and the bills..." Hanna pulled her into a tight hug. "I know, sweetie. You're doing the best you can." They sat down in the living room, the clean kitchen a testament to their friendship's strength. Hanna's screen searched Karen's for a sign of the spark that used to be there. "I can't remember the last time we went out together," Hanna said. "You two deserve a break." Karen's screen lit up at the suggestion, but quickly dimmed. "We can't afford it," she said, sighing. "Not with the overtime Plankton's been doing." Hanna leaned in, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, I might have a little surprise for you," she said. Karen looked up, curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?" Hanna pulled out a small envelope from her pocket and handed it to her friend. "A gift," she said with a sly smile. "A check from my winning lottery ticket." Karen's eyes widened as she opened the envelope. "Hanna, no!" she protested. "You can't just give us your winnings!" Hanna's smile didn't waver. "I can, and I want to. You've been there for me through everything. It's about time I returned the favor. Besides," she said with a wink, "what's a little chum between friends?" Karen's hands trembled as she read the check. It was more than enough to cover their rent and bills for several months. Tears slipped down her cheeks, and she hugged Hanna tightly. "Thank you," she whispered. The weight of financial stress lifted slightly from her shoulders, replaced by a warmth that spread through her chest. For a moment, the world didn't seem so overwhelming. Hanna pulled back, her own eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, don't spend it all in one place," she teased. Karen laughed, the sound small but genuine. "I won't," she promised, the check clutched in her hand. "We'll use it wisely." The two of them sat quietly for a while, enjoying the rare moment of peace. The TV had switched to the news, and the low murmur of the anchor's voice filled the room. Plankton's snoring had become a comforting white noise. Hanna looked at Plankton, her expression thoughtful. "You know, I've always admired the way you take care of him," she said. "It can't be easy." Karen nodded, her thumb tracing the edges of the check. "It's not," she admitted. "But he's my Plankton. I love him, even when he's exhausting." Her gaze drifted to the sleeping form of her husband. Plankton's snores grew more even, his face finally relaxed. The lines of stress that usually pinched his features had smoothed out in sleep. Karen knew that Plankton had always dreamed of more than his life at the chum factory could offer. He was a man of ambition, his spirit too large for the cramped quarters they called home. Her thoughts turned to the gift from Hanna. The check represented more than just money; it was a beacon of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could finally start working towards those dreams.

⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣤⣠⣄⣤⠤⢤⣠⠤⠠⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠤⠤⢤⡤⠤⢠⠄⠤⣀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⣀⠠⠄⠤⠤⣤⣤⡤⣤⠤⠤⠠⢤⡠⠄ ⡇⠀⡀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⢀⡠⢂⢥⠖⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⡈⠒⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣦⡑⢄⠀⡜⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠄⠁⡐⠀⢂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⠂⠐⡀⠂⠐⠀⢂⠐⠀⠂⠠⠀⣢⡫⢪⠕⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠊⢀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠘⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣄⢢⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⡘⠀⠄⡁⢂⠠⠈⢀⠂⡁⠂⠄⡈⠄⠡⠐⡈⠄⢁⠀⢂⠡⠈⠄⡼⢋⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠔⠁⠀⠐⠁⠀⠀⡀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠰⠀⢱⡀⠀⢀⡤⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡠⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠰⠋⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⠇⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠤⠁⢂⠐⠠⠀⠐⡀⠂⠄⡁⠂⠀⠐⠠⢁⠐⠈⡀⢈⠀⠂⡁⠄⣡⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠊⠀⠐⠁⢀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢁⠔⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠈⢰⡐⡙⠀⣀⣀⣀⡠⢒⣝⠭⠊⢀⠌⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠐⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⠐⠀⠠⢁⠂⡐⠀⠁⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⠠⠀⢂⠁⠄⢰⠁⡐⠀⠀⠀⢠⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⠁⡠⠂⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠠⠊⡠⠈⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⡆⡗⠀⡷⠅⢂⠔⢁⢐⠡⠀⠒⢀⡉⠩⠭⠖⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⣁⠂⢁⠂⡐⠀⠌⢀⠂⡐⠠⠁⠄⡁⢂⠁⢂⠐⠠⠁⠂⠌⡀⡇⡔⡇⠀⢠⢁⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠌⠀⣰⢀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⢀⢔⠤⣊⠀⠀⠃⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⢧⡇⠌⠀⠀⣎⠔⢉⣠⣄⢂⡉⠀⠉⠉⠉⠀⠐⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠈⠝⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠄⠂⠄⢂⠐⠈⠀⠂⡐⠠⠁⠌⡐⠠⠀⡈⢀⠂⢁⠈⡐⠠⠀⣿⢠⢧⠀⡄⠆⡐⠀⠀⠀⢀⠊⠀⠀⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠞⠁⠀⠀⠈⠐⢼⠀⠸⠀⠀⣀⢞⠪⠍⠚⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠔⠂⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠎⡪⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠈⠄⡁⠌⡀⠂⠡⠈⡐⠀⠡⢈⠠⠐⠀⡥⣄⠂⡀⠂⠄⡀⢁⠐⠈⡼⢸⡀⢸⢰⠁⠀⠀⢀⠂⠀⠀⢀⡔⠀⠀⠀⢀⠌⠀⠀⣀⠄⣀⠀⠀⠸⠀⡆⢠⠞⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠉⠀⠐⠠⠄⡀⠈⢀⠀⣐⢄⠀⢀⡠⠄⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠌⡀⠐⠠⠁⢂⠁⢠⡁⠂⠄⢂⠡⢸⡼⡋⠷⡀⢁⠂⡐⢀⠂⡁⢳⡞⢄⣟⣯⠀⠀⠀⡮⠆⠀⠔⠱⠀⠀⠀⡠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢶⣅⡀⠀⣰⢔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠱⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣕⡠⡀⢋⠓⢧⡀⠈⠁⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠒⡀⢁⠂⡁⠂⠌⢀⡐⢈⠐⡀⠂⠌⣷⡰⠀⠘⢆⠀⠐⡀⢂⠐⠈⢃⣼⣿⡦⣾⡀⣥⢱⡠⠊⠀⡆⣰⢃⠊⠀⠀⡴⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⡧⡗⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⡆⠤⢀⠀⠀⠐⡀⠉⠲⣧⡈⠪⢄⠀⠀⠈⠄⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠠⠁⠄⢂⠐⡀⠡⠈⡈⢁⡀⠂⢀⠁⢂⠘⣵⡑⢄⣈⡆⠁⠄⠀⢂⠐⠾⢉⣿⣿⣾⡞⡇⠘⠀⠀⠀⣠⡯⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⢠⠳⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡎⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠢⢡⠀⠉⠛⢗⡒⠲⠤⠤⠴⣦⠑⠨⡖⠄⡀⠘⡀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⢁⠆⠀⠆⠰⢀⠁⢀⠁⡀⠁⠆⠈⡀⢀⠈⢎⡰⢎⡇⠈⡀⢁⠀⠆⡀⢸⣿⣿⡿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠰⠈⣸⠆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⡾⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢱⠆⠀⠀⠀⠉⣶⡇⠀⠀⠀⠱⡀⢇⠀⠉⡆⡇⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠌⡀⠂⠄⠡⢈⠐⡀⠂⠠⢀⠈⢹⡀⠠⠐⠠⢈⠐⡀⢸⡿⡏⠀⢿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠑⠒⠀⠄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⡏⠀⡆⠀⠀⡎⢰⠁⡘⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠈⠆⡀⠠⠤⠀⠈⢻⡦⠀⠀⠀⠈⠺⣀⡀⡸⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⢀⠉⠄⠂⠄⠂⠐⠠⠐⠈⠠⠁⡀⠂⠄⠠⠁⢀⠈⡀⠹⡄⢂⠁⡀⠂⠐⡈⢀⠠⠀⣸⢿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡇⡃⠀⢁⠀⠀⡄⡞⡰⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠟⡀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠡⠃⠀⠀⠠⠤⢤⠟⢑⣲⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠌⡀⠌⠠⠁⠌⠠⠁⣈⡐⠀⠄⠂⡰⠋⠆⠂⠐⡀⠡⠘⢆⠐⡀⢁⠂⠐⡀⠀⢂⠀⠄⣹⣿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⣴⢾⡿⠘⣷⠀⠈⡄⠀⣇⢰⠁⠀⢡⠀⣠⠎⠠⠊⠀⡡⢣⣤⣤⣼⣤⣰⡀⠀⢹⠀⡌⢻⠉⣀⣤⣣⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠒⡀⠌⠠⠁⠌⡐⢸⠍⠹⡀⠌⠀⡇⠀⢸⠀⠡⠐⠠⠁⢈⠣⡐⠠⢈⠐⠠⠁⡤⣤⡦⠿⠾⠧⠯⣿⣷⣤⡤⣤⠖⠊⠁⢠⠃⠉⠰⠇⠸⡆⠄⠐⣄⠑⢹⢀⣠⣼⡮⠘⠁⠀⠀⣀⢄⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠐⠛⠗⡄⡴⡩⢺⢀⣴⡟⣟⡾⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠠⠁⠄⡈⠐⠈⡐⢀⠸⡄⠀⢇⠠⠁⣡⠀⢸⠀⠄⠁⠄⠂⠠⠀⠉⠳⣤⣈⣠⣴⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡀⠀⡉⢀⣘⠀⠁⠢⢀⠟⣆⠁⢸⠀⠀⠘⠌⠀⠌⣅⣾⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠤⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⣢⡢⠀⠀⢎⠈⢸⣱⢇⡿⣽⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠡⠂⠠⢁⠂⡐⠠⠀⢣⠀⠸⣀⣴⡟⠀⠸⣷⡶⣶⣶⣶⡶⢿⠿⡟⠟⠩⣡⠎⠀⠀⠀⡠⠚⢛⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠁⠺⡟⠲⡆⠢⣀⠈⠂⢀⠀⠉⣀⠔⡠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠂⠅⠀⢰⠐⢉⣾⡳⣛⣾⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⣁⠂⡁⢂⠐⠠⠐⢀⠈⣆⠀⢻⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⣿⣟⡿⣽⣛⣯⢿⣋⢖⡽⠱⡀⠀⡠⠊⣠⣴⣿⣿⠁⣿⠀⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣜⣀⡘⢗⢌⡙⠂⠴⠺⢛⠉⠩⡠⠒⠀⢀⣠⠔⠂⠈⠉⠉⠙⡀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡶⣖⣡⣗⣿⣿⣳⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠀⠄⠂⡐⠠⢈⠠⠐⡤⠾⣿⡄⠀⢻⡟⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢯⣟⡷⣭⡏⡇⠀⠡⠈⣠⡾⣿⣿⣿⡇⣸⣿⣦⣿⡿⠀⠀⢀⠔⠅⡛⢦⠈⠓⣆⠈⢁⠒⠀⠤⣌⣋⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡿⡿⠋⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣁⣤⠤⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠈⠄⡁⠠⠐⢀⢠⢾⠁⠀⡀⠇⠀⠈⠅⠀⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⠀⡅⠀⣴⡿⢋⣼⡿⣿⡿⢀⣿⢿⣿⣿⠇⢣⠾⣕⢪⣴⠳⡔⣻⣤⢸⣠⣴⣧⣄⡹⣵⣤⡀⠀⠀⡀⠡⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⣡⠀⡠⠊⢰⡟⠁⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠹⣇⠘⢄⠀⠈⠢⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠐⡈⠄⠠⢁⢠⠋⠉⡆⠀⢡⠀⠀⠀⡠⢐⡀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⡙⢸⠀⠇⠸⣿⣴⣿⠟⣰⣿⠃⣸⣿⠘⠛⢁⣴⣿⣛⣮⢷⣺⣎⢙⡶⠽⠿⠿⠟⢲⡖⣯⡽⣳⢋⡷⠊⢡⣄⢀⣀⣀⡀⣀⣠⡾⠏⢣⠃⠀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠇⠀⠙⠕⡤⢉⡒⠀⣻⢂⠀⠀⠀ ⡇⠐⠀⠄⠁⣤⣿⣓⡀⠈⠢⡠⡄⠒⡎⠉⠀⢀⠁⠸⣿⣿⣿⡟⡑⠀⢸⠀⠰⠀⢻⡿⢃⣼⡿⠇⢀⣿⡏⢀⣴⣿⣿⣾⣿⣯⣟⠃⠟⠁⢀⣠⣤⠤⠒⠋⠉⢣⣿⣽⣏⣷⡦⡨⠿⠿⠮⣚⣿⠿⣫⠎⠀⠈⢄⢠⠁⠀⠀⠂⠀⠈⣇⣦⡙⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠲⠾⠵⠃⠀⠀⠀ ⠗⠒⠚⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⠚⠓⠚⠓⠛⠓⠒⠒⠚⠒⠒⠒⠛⠛⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠛⠛⠚⠒⠚⠛⠓⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠛⠒⠚⠒⠒⠚⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠛⠚⠛⠛⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠚⠛⠛⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠒⠚⠒⠒⠒⠒⠓⠛⠓⠚⠛⠛⠛⠛⠓⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒⠒

𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒂𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆! 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒈𝒖𝒚𝒔 𝒅𝒖𝒎𝒃 𝒐𝒓 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒍𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒘𝒆𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒆𝒎𝒐𝒋𝒊 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒔 𝒐𝒓 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒕𝒆 𝒔𝒚𝒎𝒃𝒐𝒍𝒔! 𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆, 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅!! <33

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢲⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠂⢉⠤⠐⠋⠈⠡⡈⠉⠐⠠⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢠⣤⠔⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢢⠀⠀⠈⠱⡤⣤⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠰⠁⠀⣰⣿⠃⠀⢠⠃⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠈⢞⣦⡀⠈⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢇⣠⡿⠁⠀⢀⡃⠀⣈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢢⠰⠀⠀⢺⣧⢰⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⠁⡘⠀⡌⡇⠀⡿⠸⠀⠀⠀⠈⡕⡄⠀⠐⡀⠈⠀⢃⠀⠀⠾⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⡇⠃⢠⠀⠶⡀⡇⢃⠡⡀⠀⠀⠡⠈⢂⡀⢁⠀⡁⠸⠀⡆⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀⢸⠀⠘⡜⠀⣑⢴⣀⠑⠯⡂⠄⣀⣣⢀⣈⢺⡜⢣⠀⡆⡇⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠇⠀⢸⠀⡗⣰⡿⡻⠿⡳⡅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡵⠿⠿⡻⣷⡡⡇⡇⠀⢸⣇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⡆⡄⣧⡏⠸⢠⢲⢸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⢙⢰⠂⢡⠘⣇⡇⠃⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠟⠀⠀⢰⢁⡇⠇⠰⣀⢁⡜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣀⣁⠌⠀⠃⠰⠀⠀⠀⠈⠰⠀⠀ ⠀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⢊⣤⠀⠀⠤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠄⠀⢸⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⠀ ⢠⠁⢀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠀ ⠘⠸⠘⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠎⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠇⢆⢃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡏⢲⢤⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⠄⡚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⠀⠀⠀ ⢰⠈⢌⢎⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⣌⠆⡰⡁⠉⠉⠀⠉⠁⡱⡘⡼⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⢬⠃⢠⠀⡆ ⠀⢢⠀⠑⢵⣧⡀⠀⠀⡿⠳⠂⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢺⡀⠀⠀⢀⢠⣮⠃⢀⠆⡰⠀ ⠀⠀⠑⠄⣀⠙⡭⠢⢀⡀⠀⠁⠄⣀⣀⠀⢀⣀⣀⣀⡠⠂⢃⡀⠔⠱⡞⢁⠄⣁⠔⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

». 🧸 ⁰⁰⁶𖦹⋆⚬

𝟕love

𝟏𝟑⸆⸉ ོ

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 12 (Autistic author) They sit in companionable silence, the only sound Plankton's soft snores. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her thoughts a tumult of fear and hope. Sandy watches them both, her mind racing with questions and concerns. "What does this mean for him?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "It means his world is different now," Karen explains, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "He'll have his moments, but we'll find a new normal." Sandy nods, trying to picture what that would look like. "But can he still...you know, talk, interact?" "It's not like that," Karen sighs, her voice a soothing lullaby. "He's not nonverbal. It's just that sometimes his brain can't keep up with the world around him. The sounds, the lights, the colors—it's too much." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "I can see that," she says thoughtfully. "But he'll still be the same person, right?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and hope. "He'll always be Plankton," she says, her voice firm. "But his autism has changed the way he experiences life. He'll see patterns where we see chaos, hear symphonies where we only hear noise." Sandy nods, trying to wrap her head around the concept. "What about his memories?" she asks, her voice tentative. "Does he still remember us, his life before?" Karen looks at her softly. "Yes," she says, her voice filled with reassurance. "But his short-term memory might be affected." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "How long will it take for him to...to get better?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Karen's gaze falls to her hands, clutched in her lap. "There isn't a cure," she says, her voice a whisper. "But we can help him manage, make his life more comfortable." Sandy's eyes are glassy with unshed tears. "What can I do?" she asks, her voice desperate. "What can any of us do?" Karen takes a deep breath. "You can learn with us," she says, her voice strong. "You can support him, love him, be patient." Sandy nods, her eyes filled with a newfound resolve. "I want to help," she says, her voice steady. "But what about his plans, his schemes?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of sorrow and a ghost of a smile. "Those might have to take a backseat for a while. His mind has to heal." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton. "I can handle that," she says, her voice filled with determination. "But what about the Krabby Patty formula?" Karen looks at her, her expression a mix of understanding and sorrow. "We'll have to see," she says, her voice soft. "For now, let's focus on getting him comfortable, okay?" Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "Okay," she whispers, her voice full of resolve. "We'll figure it out." Karen nods, her smile small but genuine. "Thank you," she says, her voice filled with gratitude. "It's going to be a tough adjustment for all of us." Sandy nods, her eyes still on Plankton. "We'll make it work," she says, her voice firm. "But what happens if he has another...episode?" Karen sighs, her screen slightly glazed with fear. "We just have to be there," she says, her voice shaky. "We'll learn his triggers, his comforts." Sandy nods, her mind racing with concern. "But what if it's in public?" "We'll handle it," Karen interrupts, her tone firm. "We'll have strategies, routines. It won't be easy, but we'll manage." Sandy sniffles, her voice now a sob. "What if he..." But Karen cuts her off, her eyes on Plankton, who's started to stir in his sleep. His antennae twitches, his body shifting under the covers. Slowly, Plankton's eye opens, his gaze unfocused. The room is a blur of patterns and colors, but Karen's voice is a steady beat in the cacophony. "Hey, sweetheart," she whispers, her hand brushing his cheek gently. "You're okay." Plankton's antennae twitch sluggishly, his body unwinding from the tight coil of sleep. "Home," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. Karen's eyes are on him, a silent vigil against the chaos of his mind. "You're safe," she whispers, her voice the calm to his storm. "You're home with me." Plankton's gaze sharpens slightly, his antennae moving in tiny, precise patterns. "Karen," he whispers, his voice like a distant echo. Karen leans in closer, her heart racing. "Yes, love?" she asks, her voice soothing. Plankton's antennae wave in the air, as if trying to capture the right words. "Need...Karen," he whispers, his eye searching hers. Karen nods, her smile gentle. "I'm here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "Always." Plankton's antennae cease their frantic movements, then he notices Sandy. "Hi, Plankton," Sandy whispers, her voice soft.

👢𝓣𝓪𝔂𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓯𝓽🦋 🐴𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒👸 💜𝒮𝓅ℯ𝒶𝓀 𝒩ℴ𝓌🤩 💋𝘙𝘌𝘋💄 🪩𝟙𝟡𝟠𝟡🗽 😈ℜ𝔢𝔭𝔲𝔱𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫🐍 💕𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓻☀️ 🎹𝒇𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒆🧚 🍂𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎🥂 ✨𝕄𝕚𝕕𝕟𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕤 🌘 🅣🅐🅨 🅣🅐🅨 【1】【3】　

𝟏𝟐𝟑𝟒𝟓𝟔𝟕𝟖𝟗 ①②③④⑤⑥⑦⑧⑨ １２３４５６７８９ 𝟙𝟚𝟛𝟜𝟝𝟞𝟟𝟠𝟡 ➊➋➌➍➎➏➐➑➒ ¹²³⁴⁵⁶⁷⁸⁹ ₁₂₃₄₅₆₇₈₉ 1̶2̶3̶4̶5̶6̶7̶8̶9̶ 1̲2̲3̲4̲5̲6̲7̲8̲9̲ 1̳2̳3̳4̳5̳6̳7̳8̳9̳ 【1】【2】【3】【4】【5】【6】【7】【8】【9】 『1』『2』『3』『4』『5』『6』『7』『8』『9』

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 14 (Autistic author) The next day, Karen wakes up to find Plankton already out of bed, his eye fixated on the clock again. Then, a knock on the door alerted both of them. It's Hanna, an old friend of Karen's. "Hanna? Oh, it's been so long!" Karen exclaims as she throws her arms around Hanna, whom Plankton noticed also reciprocated the gesture. So he decided to go sit on the couch. "Oh you're Karen's husband Plankton, right‽" Hanna says. Plankton nods as Karen gets out some refreshments. Hanna sits next to Plankton on the couch, her smile genuine but her tone playful. "So, Plankton, I hear you and Karen had a wedding anniversary! Did you get her anything, or did Karen have to remind you? I bet you cause her so much trouble with your forgetfulness," she laughs. "It's a wonder she keeps you around." Of course, Karen didn't hear Hanna's playful comment, as she's still gathering the refreshments. But Plankton does. His eye widens, his antennae twitching rapidly. He feels the sting of her words, though they were meant to be light-hearted. His body tenses, his mind racing. He knows he's not forgetful; he's different. The patterns of his thoughts clash with her joke, creating a cacophony of confusion and hurt. He doesn't understand the teasing and takes it to heart, thinking he must've caused her trouble. He wordlessly leaves to the bedroom right before Karen returns with the refreshments. "Where's Plankton?" She asks Hanna, who pointed the direction he went. Karen finds him in the bedroom, crying and saying 'Karen' in between his hiccups. His body is rigid with the effort of holding in his sobs. Her heart squeezes with pain as she rushes to him, her arms wrapping around his small frame. "What's wrong, love?" she whispers, her voice filled with concern. Plankton's body shakes with sobs, his antennae limp. "Hanna," he manages to whisper, his voice choked with emotion. Karen's eyes fill with concern. "What about Hanna, sweetheart?" she asks, her voice gentle. Plankton sniffs, his antennae waving slightly. "Hanna said...she said..." He can't get the words out, his emotions choking him. Karen holds him closer, her voice a whisper. "What did Hanna say, love?" Plankton's sobs intensify, his body shaking with the force of his emotions. "Plankton," he manages to say, his voice a heartbreaking gasp. Karen's heart breaks. "What did she say, love?" she prompts, her voice soft, her eyes filled with understanding. Plankton's antennae twitch in agitation. "Hanna said Plankton cause Karen trouble," he whispers, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own sobs. "Karen better if Plankton not here." Karen's eyes fill with sorrow, her heart heavy with the weight of his misunderstanding. "Oh, Plankton," she whispers, her voice filled with love and pain. "That was just a joke, she didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. "Karen doesn't deserve this," he sobs, his antennae waving erratically. Karen holds him closer, her voice a gentle lullaby. "You don't cause me trouble, love," she says, her eyes filled with tears. "You're just...different now." Plankton's antennae twitch with understanding, his sobs slowly subsiding. "But Hanna..." he says, his voice a whimper. "Not want!" Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, love," she says, her voice soft. "But she'd never mean it that way. She was just being playful, she's nice." Plankton shakes his head, unconvinced. "Hanna did laugh at Plankton. Plankton not cause trouble," he says, his voice shaking with emotion. "Karen Plankton. Plankton loves Karen; Karen and Hanna no..." Plankton can't hold the sobbing back. Karen's eyes fill with tears. "Oh, Plankton," she says, her voice breaking. "Hanna loves you too. She didn't mean it like that. It was just a misunderstanding." Plankton's antennae wave in a pattern that Karen's learned means he's processing her words, trying to fit them into his new reality. "But Hanna said..." His voice trails off, as Hanna herself comes in. "Is everything okay in here? Or is Plankton causing..." she asks, her smile fading when she sees Plankton's tears. Karen turns to Hanna, her expression stern. "What happened?" Hanna's eyes widen in surprise. "I just said hello, and he ran in here crying," she says, her voice filled with concern. Karen's screen tightens with frustration. "What exactly did you say?" she asks, her voice calm but firm. Hanna's eyes widen in understanding. "Oh, no," she says, her voice softening. "I just made a joke about your anniversary. I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only grow louder, his antennae flailing wildly. "Hanna said Plankton cause trouble," he accuses, his body wracked with emotion. "Not joke!" Hanna's eyes widen in horror, her playful smile vanishing as she sees the pain in Plankton's eye. She rushes over, kneeling beside him. "Plankton, no," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "It was just a joke. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean..." But Plankton's sobs only intensify, his body a storm of emotions he can't control. "IT'S NOT A JOKE!" he cries out. Hanna's eyes fill with tears as she realizes the gravity of her mistake. "Plankton, I'm so sorry," she whispers, her hand reaching out to touch his shoulder. But Plankton's reaction is explosive, his antennae lashing out like whips. "NO!" he screams, his voice a tornado of pain and anger. "ENOUGH HURT!" Hanna looks at Karen. "How often you say he throws these fitful tantrums?" Hanna says, which is the final straw for Plankton. Plankton's antennae quiver with rage. "NO, NOT TANTRUMS!" he shouts, his voice a thunderclap in the small room. "PLANKTON HAS ACQUIRED RESTRICTED FLOW TO THE FRONTAL TEMPORAL POLAR CORTEX!" Hanna looks at him strangely. "W..." "PLANKTON HAS CORPUS CALLOSUM DEACTIVATION IN THE SENSORY INTEGRATION CENTERS!" Plankton shouts, his antennae a blur of movement as he tries to convey his condition's complexity. "Neurotransmitters firing asynchronously, synapses misfiring, it's not a tantrum! SO HANNA NEEDS TO EITHER USE THE CORRECT TERMINOLOGY OR NOT SPEAK AT THE SAME TIME!" Karen's eyes are wide with fear, yet understanding that Plankton is desperate. "Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "It's okay, you don't have to explain." But Plankton's antennae wave frantically, his need for precision a storm in his mind. "HAS TO!" he yells, his voice desperate. "HANNA NOT KNOW THE DIFFERENCE!" Karen nods, her heart swelling with love and pride at his bravery. "Okay, love," she says, her voice soothing. "Let's explain." She takes a deep breath, her eyes never leaving Plankton's as she addresses Hanna. "Plankton has acquired a form of autism, it's called 'autistic shutdowns'. It's not a tantrum, it's his brain's way of shutting down to protect itself from sensory overload. It's from a bad accident.." Hanna's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh my goodness," she whispers, her voice filled with regret. "I had no idea." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's. "It's been a tough adjustment for us all," she says, her voice gentle. "But we're managing."

🇳🇿🇳🇿❤️💓💞 ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ﾟ. ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ ≽^•⩊•^≼ 😻 🔴🤞🔵🫴🟣 🔴🤞🔵🫴🟣 🔴🤞🔵🫴🟣 🐖

⢸⡉⠒⠦⢤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡲⡀⢀⣀⣤⡤⠤⣤⣤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣤⠴⠒⣺ ⢸⡟⢿⣤⡀⠀⠉⠉⠒⠲⢤⡴⠗⠚⠁⠀⢦⡄⠀⢀⡄⠀⠈⠛⠢⠤⡤⠖⠒⠉⠉⠠⣠⣤⠀⡏ ⣼⣿⡇⡿⠿⢷⣄⠀⢀⣰⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠋⠀⠻⢤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⣧⡀⠀⣴⠾⠋⠀⢴⢷ ⣿⣿⡇⠁⠀⠀⢹⣦⡟⢁⣶⠃⠀⢐⡚⠋⠁⠀⠀⠢⣤⢉⣓⣂⠀⠀⢢⡈⢿⣸⠃⠀⠀⠀⢾⣼ ⠘⣿⣦⣀⠀⠀⢨⡿⠀⣺⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣷⡄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⡃⠈⣿⡀⢀⡀⣦⢶⡿ ⠀⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⣿⠃⢠⣿⡟⣿⣿⣌⣿⣾⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣍⣿⡜⣿⡄⢸⡇⢸⣿⣿⡼⠁ ⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣤⣿⠀⣿⣟⣷⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⡿⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⢸⣿⡀⣧⣴⣿⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⢙⣻⠟⢾⣊⠛⠛⠛⠛⠿⡴⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠿⠿⠿⠒⠚⠛⢛⡷⠻⣿⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠟⠙⠲⢦⣝⣷⣄⠀⠰⣆⢐⣒⠲⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⣲⣶⣶⠀⣠⣶⣋⣵⠖⠈⠳⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⠏⠒⠲⠦⣤⣉⡛⠿⣄⠀⠈⠻⠿⣿⣦⠀⠀⢰⣿⣿⠿⠋⢠⣿⣛⣩⣤⠶⠖⠂⢱⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠻⡶⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⠘⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⠀ ⠀⠀⢺⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠈⢳⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣤⣤⠤⠶⠖⠚⠓⠶⠶⠤⠤⣤⣤⣤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣀⠃⢰⡟⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⡀⠐⣀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠁⣰⠋⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠧⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⡤⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠙⠒⠢⠤⣄⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⡤⠴⠒⠚⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⣶⠾⣏⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡤⠖⠋⠁⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠈⠋⠓⠶⠦⣀⡀⠀⠀⣀⡏⠑⢄ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡖⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠐⢷⠀⠀⢰⡹⡄⠀⡽⠀⠀⠐ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⠏⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⠿⢻⣿⢿⠟⠋⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⣄⡀⠀⢻⠀⠱⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠏⠀⢸⡇⠈⠧⠤⠎ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⣧⠬⠀⠀⣤⡶⠆⠹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠸⣿⣛⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⠤⣞⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⡀⣤⡀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠐⡟⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠐⣇⠘⣿⠷⡿⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢷⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⠈⢦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢼⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⡄⠀⠳⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣧⣦⣀⠹⡄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣆⣳⡀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⠿⢟⢸⠅⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⢥⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣆⠀⠀⠘⠂⠀⠒⠦⣤⣤⡤⠴⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⡳⢦⣄⣀⣀⣠⣶⢿⣟⠿⣶⣤⣤⣤⡴⣿⣿⡟⢻⡌⢻⡶⠶⠟⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⠿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣤⣆⠀⠀⣠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣄⡀⣠⣶⣿⣾⡿⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠛⠻⢿⣿⣋⣙⡁⣉⣅⣁⣿⣹⡿⠟⠛⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⣙⣋⠛⢋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⡠⠤⢄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⡀⡀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⢀⡠⣔⢀⣈⣀⣠⡀⠀⠀⠀ ⡏⠀⡏⢁⡟⠍⡗⠗⡂⡐⠐⠓⡟⣆⠐⣀⣤⣦⠿⠗⠒⣤⡅⢃⢐⠂⠆⢒⠂⠀⢀⡰⠀⠀⢀ ⣏⣁⣀⣁⣈⣽⡁⣠⡖⣶⣃⣑⡑⣂⣋⣋⣓⣊⣂⣓⠀⠀⠀⠀⣨⡄⠁⠃⡌⠃⠀⠀⠀⠠⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⣹⠀⡏⡔⡇⠀⠄⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣯⣄⡟⠁⡂⠁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠶⢋⢿⢟⠫⡯⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡤⠊⠀⢢⠮⡙⢁⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠃⠀⡄⡇⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡟⡃⡿⠽⠁⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢁⠎⢴⣽⠅⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠎⡰⡒⢃⡄⠉⢀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠊⡐⠐⡱⠣⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⡐⢱⠁⢼⠛⣀⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠁⠀⣄⡜⢁⢃⡔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠁⠄⢏⠛⠂⡠⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡔⠃⣶⠅⠒⣘⠖⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣏⣄⡿⣿⠒⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠏⠇⡿⣁⡦⡄⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡖⣛⣫⣍⣭⣿⡏⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

e^᪲᪲᪲.☘︎ ݁˖» ♡ 🇹🇬🇭🇹🇨🇲〽️🔡 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 Damarlı kalpEᥫ᭡Ǝ.ᐟnྀི󠁩󠁱󠁨󠁈.ᐟ📧❌ ᡣ𐭩 🗣️🔤😕☆-1 waitfor delay '0:0:15' --

━━━━୨ৎ━━━━ ꒰ა☆໒꒱ ʚ🍓ɞ

13 ✦

⣿⣟⡿⣻⣟⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠄⡐⢀⠢⡐⢌⠢⡑⢢⠐⠄⠂⡀⢄⠠⢂⡐⢄⢂⠒⡌⠦⢱⠩⣎⠵⣩⢞⡵⣫⣽⢫⡞⡱⢌⢆⠣⡝⢮⢟⡽⢃⡜⡐⠢⡔ ⣿⢾⣽⣳⢯⣟⣷⣻⣞⣷⣻⣾⡿⠋⢁⠠⠐⡈⠡⠈⡌⢡⢂⠩⠄⣁⠒⢠⣈⣴⣶⣼⣶⣿⣶⣾⣦⣬⣘⡰⣉⠦⡙⣬⢛⡵⣫⢞⡧⢏⢯⡹⡱⢋⡌⢣⡙⠬⣙⡜⡣⢌⡱⢃⠧ ⣯⣟⡾⡽⣯⣟⡾⣷⣻⣾⡟⢋⠄⠒⣀⠂⠔⡁⠆⡑⢨⠐⢂⠁⠂⣤⣼⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣧⣱⢎⢧⢻⣵⣻⡜⣭⠢⣕⢡⢋⠬⡑⢌⡒⢥⢊⡕⢪⠔⡉⠆ ⡷⣯⢾⣝⣳⢾⣹⠷⣏⡷⣸⢣⢎⡱⢄⢪⠐⡌⠰⣁⠆⡌⢄⢊⣵⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠛⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣮⣳⣞⣷⡻⣔⢫⢆⠣⢎⢢⠑⢢⡉⢆⠣⠜⡡⢎⡱⢌ ⣿⣳⣟⡾⣽⣞⣳⠻⣝⣷⣣⣏⣎⡳⢎⢦⡙⡴⣃⠖⡬⡐⢮⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡙⣯⣿⢿⣏⠿⣧⢿⡞⡇⢾⢻⣿⣟⣞⣿⣿⣷⣯⣿⢿⡌⢇⠎⡱⢊⠴⣉⠦⡑⢎⣡⢹⡰⣣⢞⡬ ⣿⣳⣯⣟⡷⣞⡧⡙⡜⡖⣯⠿⣽⣻⢿⡶⣽⢶⡹⡞⡴⣹⣿⠛⣭⣾⡿⣷⠧⣛⣽⣾⣿⣹⠾⣟⣷⢹⢸⡖⣻⣟⣻⣟⣿⡿⣟⡾⢯⡜⣈⠲⢡⢍⠲⣌⠲⣉⠶⣌⢧⡳⣭⢞⡵ ⣿⣟⣷⣿⣻⠟⡀⠱⢨⠕⡮⡝⡶⡭⢯⡽⣫⢟⡳⣭⣒⣿⢽⣹⣿⣿⣳⣝⠿⠤⠘⠉⠘⠓⣻⣬⣽⡾⣜⡷⡹⢯⣼⣿⣹⡟⣿⣝⣳⠜⡤⢃⠣⢎⡱⢌⡳⢭⡞⡽⣎⢷⡹⢮⡽ ⣿⡻⡽⣞⡿⠀⠐⡡⢊⠼⡱⣙⠶⣙⢧⠻⡵⣋⠷⣱⢋⣾⣻⣿⡿⠋⢁⣭⣄⣠⠴⡀⣶⡼⢿⠿⠿⠁⠛⡵⣷⡗⣾⣿⡏⡆⣿⣾⢹⣞⡰⡉⠦⣁⢚⣬⢳⣏⠾⣝⣮⢳⣏⠿⣜ ⢧⡹⣵⠿⠁⢠⠡⡐⣉⠖⡱⣍⢞⡱⢎⡝⡲⣍⠞⣥⢫⣞⢸⣿⡷⠿⢿⡿⢹⠏⠰⠁⠈⠓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢻⠇⢹⣿⡇⣷⠇⣿⣧⢻⡆⠥⢣⢔⡩⢖⡭⢎⡻⢵⡺⡝⣮⢛⡬ ⣷⣻⠕⠠⡑⢢⠱⡘⣔⠫⡕⣎⠮⣱⢫⡜⣱⢎⡝⢦⢻⣗⣜⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠐⢠⡄⢲⠦⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⠀⢨⣿⠃⣇⣟⢸⣇⠈⢷⣊⠗⣮⢱⢫⡜⣭⢳⢣⢳⡙⢦⣋⠴ ⣯⡝⠠⢃⠜⣠⢣⠱⣌⠳⡸⠴⣙⢦⡓⡞⣥⢏⠾⣱⢫⡏⣷⣿⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣡⣤⣆⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⣿⣧⡷⢸⠋⣻⠀⠘⣏⠞⣔⠫⣖⡹⢆⡏⣎⠧⣙⠶⣨⢓ ⡷⠈⢆⡡⠚⡄⢎⡱⢌⡳⢱⠫⡜⢦⠹⡜⠦⣉⠚⢤⠣⣷⣼⣚⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⣰⣿⠋⣛⣿⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣏⣿⡷⢹⠇⡇⠄⠀⣿⡹⢤⠛⣤⠳⢭⡜⢦⡙⢦⡓⡥⢎ ⢡⠘⡄⢎⡱⢜⢢⡑⢎⡔⢃⡒⠸⢌⠓⠌⠒⠤⡉⢆⠣⡽⢸⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣼⣿⣿⣇⠘⡆⡅⠀⠀⢸⡇⢮⡙⢦⡛⢶⡘⢧⣙⢦⡝⣜⠣ ⢠⠓⡜⢢⠳⡌⢦⡙⢤⢊⠵⣈⠳⡈⠌⡌⢡⢂⢁⠢⠡⢍⣻⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠿⠿⠯⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣷⣾⢿⡙⠹⣱⢓⠁⠀⠆⠈⣯⢲⡝⣶⡹⢧⣛⢧⡏⡞⡼⢌⠣ ⢎⡽⣘⢣⢧⡙⢦⡙⣆⢫⠒⡍⡒⣉⠒⡌⠰⣀⠊⢄⡑⢢⡿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣷⡯⢧⡏⣆⡙⡌⠠⠀⠀⠀⣿⢣⡟⣶⢻⣝⢮⡳⡹⣜⠲⣍⠲ ⣏⠶⣍⡞⢦⡹⢦⡙⢦⣍⠳⣌⠱⡄⢣⡘⢡⢂⡕⢢⠜⡳⣽⣟⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣀⠀⣀⠀⢀⠀⡀⢀⠀⡼⣻⣿⣿⡿⢸⡁⢻⣿⢁⠀⣤⡀⠙⣩⡷⣹⢷⣛⢎⢧⣳⡹⣜⡳⣌⠳ ⣞⣻⢼⡹⣎⢷⢣⣻⠱⣎⠵⣌⠳⣌⠣⡜⡱⣊⠜⣡⠞⣿⡘⡽⣽⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠍⢫⠙⢎⡱⠈⠜⠀⣽⢷⣿⣹⡛⢇⠛⢻⠎⡆⠁⡀⠀⣿⡽⢯⣷⢫⢞⡳⢶⡹⣎⠷⣍⡳ ⡿⣼⡳⢯⡽⣚⡧⣏⢗⣎⢳⣌⠳⣌⠧⣑⢣⠱⣊⠥⢺⡟⣧⢹⢳⢫⣿⣿⣿⣿⡧⣈⠀⠀⠀⢀⠈⠀⢁⡺⣹⠇⡁⣜⣯⡀⣼⡾⣀⠐⠁⠀⢸⡟⣯⢞⡝⣮⠹⣖⡹⢎⠿⣜⡵ ⣿⣳⣻⡭⣗⢯⡞⣭⢞⣬⠳⣌⠳⡜⡸⢄⡃⠣⠔⡘⣶⣏⡽⣈⣧⣏⣷⣿⣿⣥⣷⠄⠀⠀⠁⠄⠂⡐⢸⣇⡽⡓⠧⣆⣏⡇⠽⣠⠯⠁⠀⠀⣼⡿⣱⣏⠾⣔⡫⢖⡩⢎⡳⢎⠶ ⣷⣛⣶⢻⡞⣧⣻⣜⡳⣎⢟⡬⢣⡙⠴⠡⡈⠅⣨⣶⣟⣳⣾⣿⣫⠽⠿⣯⢞⡵⣽⣛⣳⣄⠀⠀⠂⢌⡳⣏⣿⢰⡆⠳⣸⢀⣿⢠⣱⡀⠁⠀⢸⡿⣵⣞⡻⣜⣳⢫⡵⢫⡼⣍⡞ ⣿⡽⣞⣯⣽⣳⣳⢮⢷⡹⣞⡜⣣⠜⣢⠑⣌⣶⠻⢏⠞⡴⠁⠂⠉⠻⠿⣪⣽⣟⢻⡽⣿⡍⠟⣶⡀⠆⣻⡞⡿⣠⢙⡃⣿⠀⣿⢸⣿⠁⠀⠀⣼⣿⣳⢞⣽⢣⣏⢷⣹⢣⡗⣮⢹ ⣿⣽⣻⣼⣳⡽⣮⣛⢾⡱⢯⠼⣑⠞⣤⡟⠏⠀⠃⠊⠜⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⢶⣔⠛⠻⣾⡹⠿⣿⣿⣷⣮⣽⣧⣿⣼⣳⡏⣄⠯⢻⣟⡎⠀⢠⠼⣷⣫⢞⣭⢳⢮⡳⣭⡳⣝⢮⡳ ⣿⢷⣻⣞⡷⣻⣵⣛⢮⡝⣧⢻⣌⣳⡛⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠊⢻⡷⣄⠢⢝⣓⢢⣙⢯⣻⣿⣻⣯⣿⣭⢗⢾⡟⢼⣿⠣⠀⣤⣾⡜⢻⣞⣬⣛⢮⣳⢳⡽⣚⠷⡽ ⣿⢯⡷⣯⣟⠷⣧⢟⡮⣝⠶⣣⢻⡓⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢉⠫⠷⣬⡉⠷⣿⠾⣥⣟⣿⣿⣷⣺⢼⣾⡟⣿⣯⢂⢐⣿⣿⠿⠂⠉⠲⣯⢾⡵⣯⠳⣍⠯⡵ ⡿⣯⣟⣵⢾⣻⡽⣺⢵⣫⡝⢧⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠂⠡⢘⣳⣶⠝⣁⣹⣿⣛⣯⣿⣿⣿⣿⣳⣿⠏⠀⣼⣿⣯⣶⢀⠀⠀⠹⣯⡗⣧⢻⡼⣹⠵ ⣿⣳⢯⣞⣯⢷⣻⡽⣎⡷⣹⣿⠇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⢉⡣⣝⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣧⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣆⠀⠀⡿⣝⢮⡳⣝⡧⣟ ⣿⣽⣻⣞⡷⣫⠷⣏⡿⣼⢳⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⣟⡳⠙⣠⡳⢽⠧⢠⢿⡿⢛⠦⡋⢿⠸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⢿⣷⣠⣿⣝⡮⣗⢯⢾⣹ ⣿⣞⡷⣯⡽⣝⡻⣝⢾⣱⣿⠗⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣷⡦⡙⢦⣿⡒⡿⠰⣾⠒⣙⢞⢦⠁⣠⢟⡚⢻⣿⣿⣿⣧⠿⣿⣿⡾⣵⢫⡞⣯⢳ ⣿⣞⣿⡳⢯⣝⡳⡽⣎⢷⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⢀⣤⡔⣛⣎⢭⡽⣙⠤⠨⡫⢤⣈⡴⢛⣋⡍⠴⣢⡌⠚⣿⢂⡺⢿⣿⣿⣿⡾⣽⢿⣯⣷⡹⣎⢯ ⣿⣞⡷⣛⡯⣞⡵⣛⣬⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣏⡀⢀⣠⠴⣏⢻⣽⡿⢻⣭⢹⣘⢆⢋⣀⡣⠍⡭⢄⢁⠿⣒⠋⠕⣖⢻⣿⣏⡆⣉⢿⣿⣿⣿⣏⡟⣿⣷⡙⣮ ⣟⡾⣽⡹⣞⡵⣫⢗⡾⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣴⣿⣯⠉⣿⡏⣾⣿⣎⣽⠂⣣⠋⢉⡥⠆⢩⣡⠏⢋⡃⠤⠏⣤⠙⣺⠋⠑⡮⡙⠼⢧⣻⣿⢶⣿⡟⡸⣿⣜⢿⣝⠶ ⣯⢟⡶⣻⡜⣷⢫⡟⣼⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠂⢘⠙⣿⡯⡄⠁⠃⣩⡔⡳⠳⡠⣰⡚⠐⠚⠈⢥⡒⡇⢿⢰⢉⠁⠄⠁⢞⠓⣾⠟⢮⣟⠹⢦⡁⢻⡸⣾⡽⣻ ⣏⢾⡱⢧⡻⣜⢯⢞⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⡟⣻⠟⢉⡻⠗⡙⣿⣔⠝⢧⡿⣷⢉⣰⡏⠒⢡⣦⡽⠃⢶⠨⠁⠐⠒⢁⢲⣤⠀⠐⠡⠄⡳⡢⢯⣳⢛⡀⠀⣁⠼⣷⣹ ⣎⢧⡝⣣⠗⣭⣚⢮⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⢹⡾⠡⢦⡇⣬⣘⡯⣻⣷⡍⢧⣀⢘⣃⡄⠰⠇⣴⢬⣝⢀⡨⣆⠱⠈⢄⣾⡟⢁⠀⢉⠹⡑⠑⠤⡓⠦⠽⠞⠉⠀⠸⢷ ⣮⢳⡝⣧⢻⠶⣭⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡐⢣⠽⡆⢻⣍⠟⣻⣷⣶⣹⣿⣷⢠⣶⠹⣽⠀⣸⠅⢚⣴⣟⡰⠤⡢⢅⠈⠙⣷⡌⢗⠉⡉⠍⡴⡄⡪⢪⠈⠑⠈⠄⠀⣧ ⣯⢳⡻⣜⠯⣝⢶⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⡞⣩⢖⣫⢟⣦⠲⡴⣆⡑⠨⠉⢿⣿⣧⣁⠺⡙⠱⡉⠼⠋⠹⣿⣗⡓⢫⢰⠒⣛⣿⢢⡔⠀⠄⠀⡁⣰⠄⠉⢀⠐⠆⠀⣸⢒ ⣯⢳⢯⡽⡹⢬⣻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⣧⢞⣵⣫⠽⣞⡽⢿⠛⠉⠺⢲⡌⡈⣷⡎⢻⣿⢀⠉⠛⠄⠀⠈⠻⣡⢍⠏⣖⠠⠤⠹⠿⡆⢼⣻⣇⠾⠇⠀⠔⠀⠀⡀⣸⠏⡐ ⣯⣛⡞⠶⣍⢧⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡞⡽⣎⢷⡻⣼⡹⣏⡯⡤⡕⢒⡭⢛⠡⡾⠔⢬⢽⠁⡠⠤⠤⠂⠀⢿⢅⠜⢽⠐⢠⡛⡜⠁⡃⠐⡋⢧⡡⠀⡄⠄⢤⣳⠏⡐⠠

Hey this is my introduction to become friends (or more) if you want to be my friend, my DISCORD IS: vampirecrabv Name: I will tell u when u add me Stuff: Im a girl and a lesbian, i love hazbin hotel and dungeon meshi, i can be extremely horny at times so be aware of that, im extremely loyal in friendships and relationships and i promise to treat you right :) Im a bottom or a switch idk but aside from everything sexual i love lovey dovey sweet girls, i love music and drawing aswell cause those are my hobbies, i love nature and animals and obviously women, i might be a little awkward but i love to call like voice call and stuff, purple pink and green are the best colors, anyways a said enough, byebye!❤️🧡🤍🩷💜

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＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 14 Hanna wipes her eyes, her voice shaky. "I-I think I should go," she says. Karen stands up, rushing over to her. "No, wait. What happened?" she asks, her concern evident. Hanna sniffs, trying to compose herself. "He just... he doesn't want me here," she manages. Karen's face falls. "I'm sorry," she says, taking Hanna's hand. "He's just in a lot of pain. I know he can be difficult," she says gently. "But he's just scared and frustrated." Hanna nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I know," she says. "But I can't help if he won't let me in." Karen sighs, squeezing her hand. "Give him some time," she advises. "You are staying with us, and we all outta try getting along. I'll go and check on him." With a nod, Hanna releases Karen's hand and sits back down, her thoughts racing. She wonders if she's overstepped or if Plankton will ever accept her help. The silence in the room stretches out, filled only with the ticking of a clock on the wall. Meanwhile, Karen goes to their bedroom door. "Plankton?" she calls out softly. "Can I come in?" There's no answer at first, just the sound of his ragged breathing. She opens the door slowly, finding him sitting on the bed. His antennae are drooped and his eye is red-rimmed. "What?" he says, his voice harsher than he intended. Karen sighs, sitting down beside him. "Hanna's upset," she says simply. Plankton looks away, his antennae twitching. "Good," he says, his tone still icy. "I don't want her here." Karen sighs. "You know she's only trying to help," she says. "And she's not the only one. We all are." Plankton's antennae drop further. "I don't want any of this," he says, his voice smaller. "I don't want to be the one who needs help." Karen sighs, placing a hand on his arm. "But you do," she says gently. "And that's not a bad thing. How's the leg feeling?" Plankton glowers but doesn't pull away. "It hurts," he admits. Karen nods. "I'll get your meds," she says. When she returns, she finds Plankton still sitting there, his gaze fixed on his cast. "Here," she says, handing him the pill bottle. He takes them without a word, swallowing them quickly. Karen sits back down next to him. "You know, sometimes letting people in can make the hard times easier," she says. "Yet it's also fine if you'd like space." She kisses his forehead. "Now, rest.." Plankton's antennae lift slightly. "I don't want to be alone," he admits, his voice barely a whisper. Karen's eyes widen slightly, surprised by his vulnerability. "You don't have to be," she says, taking his hand. "We're all here for you." They sit in silence for a few moments, the tension in the room slowly dissipating. Then, with a sigh, Plankton leans into her, his antennae drooping against her shoulder. "Thank you," he whispers. Karen wraps an arm around him, pulling him closer. "You're welcome," she murmurs. "We're a team." As they sit there, the tension in Plankton's body gradually eases, his breathing slowing down. Karen feels his grip on her hand loosen, his eyelid flicker closed. The fight drains out of him, and he surrenders to sleep. Karen shifts, so he's more comfortable, pulling a blanket over his cast-covered leg. The soft fabric slides over the plaster, and she tucks him in. When she returns to the living room, Hanna's eyes are still red, but she's composed herself. "Is he okay?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. Karen nods, sitting beside her. "He's asleep," she says. "But he's...going through a lot." Hanna nods, her own eyes welling up again. "What can I do to help?" she asks. Karen looks at her, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she advises. "He's not used to being dependent on others." Hanna nods, taking a deep breath. "Okay," she says. "How do you think I can be of help?" Karen smiles. "Just be there," she says. "And maybe find something that doesn't involve...babying him." Hanna nods determinedly. Later, Plankton wakes up, emerging out to the living room where Karen and Hanna sat, hobbling as he navigates with his crutches. "What are we watching?" he asks, his tone softer. They're on the couch, a movie playing on the TV, their heads close together as they whisper about the plot. Karen looks up, her smile genuine. "Just a little something to pass the time," she says, patting the cushion next to Hanna. "You wanna join?" Plankton hesitates, his antennae twitching. Then, with a sigh, he nods, moving towards them. Hanna looks up at him, her smile slightly tentative. "It's an adventure film," she says. "It's got a little of everything." Plankton eases himself onto the couch, his cast thumping against the cushions. He sits between them, his crutches propped against the side. Hanna's eyes dart to him before returning quickly to the television. Karen gives him a side hug, her hand resting comfortably on his shoulder. "Thanks," he murmurs. The film plays, and they sit in relative quiet, the occasional laugh or gasp filling the room. Hanna glances at him every so often. During a particularly intense scene, she reaches for the bowl of popcorn. "Want some?" she asks quietly. Plankton nods, extending his arm. She carefully picks out a few kernels, placing them in his hand. The gesture is small, but it feels like a peace offering. He munches on them, his gaze still on the screen, but his antennae relaxing. Karen notices the ease in the atmosphere and smiles to herself. Maybe this was what they needed, she thinks. As the credits roll, Hanna jumps up, her expression hopeful. "How about we play a game?" she suggests, her voice careful not to disrupt the peace. Plankton looks at her, his eye assessing. "What kind of game?" he asks, his voice still guarded. Hanna stands up. "How about something easy?" she says. "Like charades? It'll keep us entertained without being too strenuous for Plankto-" "I can still think, you know," Plankton snaps, his antennae waving in irritation. Hanna's smile falters, but she nods. "Of course," she says. "It's just that I don't wa-" "To sit around doing nothing," he finishes for her. "I know, I know. You just think it's all fun and games." Hanna swallows her retort, nodding. "Okay, I get it," she says. "How about something else? Maybe a puzzle?" Karen interjects, sensing the tension. "That sounds like a great idea," she says brightly. "Let's all do it together on the floor." With a grumble, Plankton starts to stand, using his crutches to balance his weight. Hanna quickly moves to his side, offering her arm for support. He glares at her. "I can do it myself," he snaps. Karen watches them, a smile tugging at her lips. "It's okay," she says, picking up a puzzle box from the coffee table. "Let's just get started." Plankton lowers himself to the floor, setting the crutches down. He grimaces, his leg muscles protesting as he shifts his weight to his good side. Using his arms for leverage, he crawls over to the space they've cleared for the puzzle. Hanna watches, worry etched on her face. "Do you want me to help? Here, le-" "I've got it," Plankton says quickly, cutting her off. He doesn't want to admit how much the simple act of getting to the floor has exhausted him. His pride won't allow it. With a grunt, he reaches the puzzle area and flops down, his cast scraping against the carpet. Karen sets the box down, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you sure you're okay?" Hanna asks. "I said I've got it," he repeats, his voice firm. He grabs a puzzle piece, his small hands shaking slightly as he tries to fit it into place. Hanna opens her mouth to protest, but Karen gives her a look, silencing her. They watch as Plankton struggles, his face contorted with effort. His leg feels like a dead weight, but he refuses to show.

📅¹²

HIIIII i'm 12, afab I want older friends :D discord user:@princessdazai69 some of my interests are: bungo stray dogs, needy streamer overload,etc! age range: anyone older than me :p

SANDY LEARNT A SECRET 2/2 The car ride home was quiet, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from Karen. Sandy drove carefully, avoiding potholes and bumps that might jar Plankton and extend his absence. She glanced at the rearview mirror, watching his still form in the backseat, his face a mask of zoned out oblivion. Karen sat next to Plankton. Her eyes never left his, willing him to blink, to move, to give any sign that he understood. They entered the Chum Bucket home. Sandy trailed behind, silent as Karen takes Plankton to their bedroom. Karen laid Plankton down on his bed, her hands shaking slightly as she pulled the blanket over his unmoving body. She tucked it in around him, smoothing out the wrinkles with tender strokes. Sandy took a seat by his side, her heart racing from the weight of what she'd just learned. Plankton lay there, completely still, his breathing shallow yet even. She studied his face, trying to read the secrets behind his glazed eye. It was eerie, yet in a strange way, like watching someone lost in a deep, unshakeable sleep. The room was bathed in soft light, the curtains filtering the harshness of the sun outside. The only sound was the faint tick of a clock on the nightstand and the even flow of air from the air conditioner. It was a contrast to the chaos of his seizure, and Sandy whispered, "You're safe here." Her eyes remained on his, waiting for the slightest movement. The minutes stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Then, as if waking from a deep slumber, Plankton's eye flickered. His gaze was unfocused, his pupil slowly expanding and contracting as he tried to adjust to the light, then confusion. She watched with bated breath as he blinked a few times. "Where… How?" he mumbled, his voice groggy and distant. "You had a… I saw you at the park, Plankton," Sandy said, her tone gentle. "You're home now. You're safe." Plankton's eye searched her face, the confusion deepening as he tried to piece together what happened. His gaze drifted to the window, where the world outside was a blur of colors and sounds. "Sandy?" he asked, his voice tentative. She nodded, her hand reaching out to squeeze his. "You're safe, Plankton. It's just..." But before Sandy could finish, he sat up with a start, his eye wide. "What happened?" He demands. Sandy's heart skipped a beat. "You had a seizure at the park," she explained. Plankton's hand flew to his face, his antennae drooping. "Oh, great," he murmured, his cheeks flushing a deep shade of red. The realization of his condition in front of someone who didn't know was clear in his expression. Sandy felt a pang of regret. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "It's just a part o..." "I know what it is!" Plankton snapped, cutting her off. His frustration was palpable, his body rigid with embarrassment. "I don't need you to explain it to me!" Sandy took a step back, her hand falling to her side. "I'm sorry," she said sincerely. Plankton's chest heaved with the effort of holding back his anger. He knew Sandy was just trying to help, but the sudden spotlight on his condition felt like an invasion of his personal space. "I'm sorry, I just..." Sandy began, but Plankton's frustration was like a dam bursting. "You just what?" he countered, his voice sharp. Sandy's cheeks burned. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know how to help. I've never..." "Seen me like this?" Plankton finished for her, his voice still edgy. Sandy nodded, feeling a knot form in her stomach. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, I just wanna ask you wh..." "Don't," Plankton interrupted, his voice brittle. "I don't want to talk about it." Sandy nodded, feeling the sting of his words. She backed away, giving him space. "Okay," she said softly. "But if you eve..." "Just go," Plankton interrupted, his voice smaller now, his eye watering. "I need some time alone." Sandy nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. She knew his anger was a shield, a way to protect himself from the curiosity and sympathy he saw as invasive. She backed out of the room. She found Karen seated on the couch. "He ok?" Karen asked. Sandy nodded. "He's awake. He's just...upset?" Karen stood up, her expression a mix of relief and concern. "I'll go to him," she decided, heading to the bedroom. Sandy hovered by the door as Karen went in. "Plankton," Karen began, her voice gentle. "You're safe, love. It's ok." Sandy could see the tension in Karen as she approached the bed, her hand trembling as it reached out to touch Plankton's shoulder. His eye met hers, and for a moment, Sandy saw the raw pain and embarrassment in his gaze. "Let's all go to the living room," Karen whispered, her voice shaky. Plankton nodded. In the living room, the three of them sat down on the couch, the silence thick and uncomfortable. Sandy felt the urge to fill it with reassurances, but she held her tongue. Karen took Plankton's hand in hers, her thumb stroking the back of it in a comforting gesture. "I know it's hard," she said softly, "but it's ok. You're ok." Plankton nodded, his breathing still a little rapid, his expression guarded. "Do you remember anything?" Karen asked, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton's gaze drifted to the floor. "Just the park," he mumbled. "The swings." Sandy's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?" Plankton's grip on the couch cushion tightened. "You don't need to know," he said, his voice edged with irritation. Karen gave a resigned sigh. "Plankton, San..." "I said I don't want to talk about it!" Plankton's voice was a sudden explosion, echoing through the room. Sandy flinched at his outburst. "Plankton, please," Karen interjected, her voice a calm contrast to the storm of his emotions. "Sandy's just trying to understand." But Plankton's anger was a wall, impenetrable. "I don't owe her anything!" he snapped, pulling his hand away from hers. "It’s not her business!" Sandy felt the sting of his words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry.." Karen put a hand on Sandy's shoulder, her eyes kind. "It's ok. It's new for you, and it's a lot to take in. Plankton just needs a bit of space." She turned to her husband, her voice soothing. "Honey, Sandy's our friend. She wants to be there for us." Sandy watched as Plankton's body visibly relaxed, his breathing evening out. His eye flickered up to meet hers, and she saw the apology in it. He took another deep breath, his shoulders dropping. "I know," he said, his voice smaller now. "I'm sorry." Karen's hand remained on his shoulder, her expression one of understanding. "It's ok," she said. "We're all trying to figure it out."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⠄⣠⣤⣴⣒⣶⣶⡶⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣶⣵⣦⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣏⣘⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣛⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠻⢭⣿⣿⡭⢿⣿⣿⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠁⠀⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⢀⡀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢹⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡄⠀⣴⠟⣳⣶⡿⡅⡿⠓⡆⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠒⠲⠒⡒⠚⠁⠀⣰⣿⣿⠏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡏⠀⣿⣿⠄⢹⠁⣸⣷⣄⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣿⡿⢶⣄⠀⠀⠈⠉⠉⠀⢀⣼⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣼⠛⢸⣿⡟⢀⡟⠀⣿⠏⠉⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⣿⡇⠀⣙⠳⣤⣀⣀⣠⡴⠋⡀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡿⠀⢸⣿⠇⣾⠁⢰⣿⠀⣤⠃ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⡴⢿⡇⠀⢹⡄⠀⠉⠉⠁⢤⡇⣷⣿⡗⠢⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢴⠒⠲⣄⠠⠀⢰⡇⠀⣿⡟⢀⡟⠀⣼⡟⠀⣿⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⢊⣤⣶⠟⠁⠀⠈⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠀⠈⠹⣝⣦⣈⠑⢤⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠸⡆⠀⠺⡆⢀⣾⠁⢀⣿⠀⣼⠁⢀⣿⠃⢀⡏⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣠⣴⣾⣉⣵⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡆⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣷⣤⡈⣷⡄⡀⠀⠀⠀⢱⡄⠀⢿⣼⡏⠻⢦⠀⢘⠁⠀⠈⠁⠀⢰⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⣤⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣵⣶⣤⢀⣿⠀⠈⢭⠇⠀⠈⣷⣜⠳⠦⢤⣄⣰⡿⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣯⣶⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣤⠤⢤⣄⠀⠀⠀⣠⡤⠤⣶⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⡇⠀⠀⠘⢦⡀⢹⡈⢻⡆⠀⠀⢸⠏⠀⠀ ⠀⣶⣽⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣦⣄⠀⠠⠴⠋⠁⢀⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠹⡌⢡⠟⠀⠀⠀⢰⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⣀⠀⣠⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⢻⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣤⠀⠀⠘⢃⠀⠀⠀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠘⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢙⣿⡏⠁⠀⠁⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⢸⣿⡇⠀⠀⡗⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⡇⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠃⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀

whoever said "guy stop f-ing saying this web needs to be a f-ing app like what the f-k there lots of f-ing beef like do you guys have brain cells of a d-k sh-t like get a life if you care about f-ing 8 year olds then dont make this a f-ing app if you f-ing do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a f-ing bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･" please chill out like multiple people have said this is a website where little kids come on here to find cute combos so please be respectful ౨ৎ°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

<3* ੈ ♡ ⸝⸝🪐 ༘ ⋆✦⚤

"You're going to be okay," Karen assured Plankton. He clutched her hand. "I'm right here." The receptionist's voice echoed through the large waiting room. "Plankton?" Karen's heart jumped. She squeezed her husband's hand. They walked down the hallway, Plankton's breaths shallow, eye darting around the white, sterile walls. The nurse led them to a small room. "Just a few questions," the nurse smiled, her voice soothing as she helped him in the recliner. The nurse, noticing his agitation, spoke slowly and clearly. "We're just going to take your blood pressure, okay?" The nurse wrapped the cuff around his bicep, her movements gentle. The hiss of the air pump filled the tense silence. "Look at me, Plankton," Karen whispered, her calming gaze meeting his. "Take deep breaths." He inhaled deeply, his chest rising and falling in a deliberate rhythm. The nurse waited patiently, giving them space. As the cuff tightened, Plankton's eye squeezed shut. The nurse completed her task quickly, her voice steady. "Good job," she said, patting his hand. Karen felt his fear spike, but his grip on her hand remained firm as the oral surgeon walked in. Dr. Marquez nodded at them, his demeanor calm and professional. "Hello, Plankton. I see we're getting ready for your wisdom teeth." He noticed Plankton's tension and turned to Karen. "You earlier mentioned his neurodisability. Is there anything special we can do to help make him comfortable?" Karen's screen lit up with gratitude. "Yes, thank you." She explained his need for calm and his sensory sensitivities. Dr. Marquez nodded thoughtfully. "We can use a weighted blanket to help with that. It provides a gentle pressure that can be quite comforting for some of my patients." He turned to the nurse. "Could you please bring one?" The nurse nodded and left the room. When she returned, she carried a soft, blue weighted blanket they warmed. They placed the blanket over Plankton, the weight evenly distributed. His body visibly relaxed under its soothing embrace. "It's okay," Karen whispered, stroking his antennae. "This will help." Plankton felt the warmth of the blanket, the weight of it pressing down on his shoulders and chest. But it did little to ease his dread. "Thank you, Dr. Marquez," Karen managed a smile, relief washing over her. She knew how important these accommodations were for her husband. The doctor explained the procedure, using simple terms that Plankton could understand. Karen noted how he tailored his explanation to avoid overwhelming details that might trigger anxiety. The anesthesiologist entered, her smile kind. "We're going to give you some medicine to help you sleep," she said gently, "and then you'll wake up without feeling a thing." Plankton nodded, his eye wide. Karen leaned in, her voice low. "You can hold my hand as you fall asleep." The anesthesiologist prepared the IV, but Plankton's grip on Karen's hand grew tighter. Dr. Marquez noticed his distress and suggested a different approach. "How about some laughing gas first?" he offered. "And perhaps a topical numbing agent.." The nurse quickly set up the gas mask, explaining each step. "This will help you relax," she said, placing it over him. "Just breathe normally." The sweet smell of the nitrous oxide filled him, yet he still remained awake. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen said soothingly. "Just keep breathing." He took a tentative breath, feeling the gas fill his lungs. The room began to spin, but not in the scary way he'd feared. It was more like floating. The weight of the blanket now felt like a gentle hug from the ocean depths, a warm embrace from his childhood home. Dr. Marquez waited until Plankton's breathing steadied, each gesture carefully calculated to avoid any sudden movements that might startle his patient. "You're doing great," he assured Plankton, his voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore of his anxiety. "You're almost there." Plankton inhaled another lungful of gas, his eye fluttering closed. The nurse gently began applying the topical numbing agent, her movements carefully choreographed to avoid any sudden jolts. Karen held his other hand, her thumb tracing comforting circles on his palm. "You're safe," she whispered. "I'm here." The gas grew heavier, his mind drifted further from the cold reality of the room. He felt himself sinking into the chair, the weighted blanket now a warm sea of comfort. His grip on Karen's hand grew looser, his breaths deepening. The doctor nodded to the anesthesiologist, who began the IV drip after using the topical numbing agent. Plankton's fear didn't vanish, but it became manageable, a distant thunderstorm rather than a hurricane in his face. His eye closed completely, his body going limp under the blanket. Karen watched as the surgical team moved with precision, their masks and caps dancing in her peripheral vision. The beeping of machines and the murmur of medical jargon filled her ears, but all she focused on was the rhythm of Plankton's breathing. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors and gave a nod. "He's ready," she said quietly. Dr. Marquez took his position, his gloved hands poised over Plankton's now open mouth after removing the gas mask. Karen's gaze was steady, her love and support unwavering as the surgical team moved in unison. The whirring of the instruments began, a soft mechanical lullaby to the background of Plankton's deep, even breaths. The surgery itself was a dance of precision, each gesture a step carefully choreographed to minimize discomfort. The doctor's hands were steady as he removed the wisdom teeth. Karen could see the tense lines in Plankton's face soften under the influence of the anesthesia. The anesthesiologist checked the monitors continuously, ensuring his vital signs remained steady. The nurse offered Karen a chair, but she chose to stand, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. As the surgery progressed, Karen felt the tension in the room ease. The surgical team worked with efficiency, their movements synchronized like a well-oiled machine. Dr. Marquez spoke in hushed tones with his assistants, each word a gentle whisper in the symphony of medical sounds. Plankton's breaths steadied, the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor a soothing reminder that he was still with her, that his anxiety had been replaced by the peacefulness of deep sedation. The doctor's instruments continued to dance, a silent ballet of precision and care. The nurse occasionally glanced at Karen, offering a reassuring smile as they suture his gums with dissolving stitches. "Alright, we're all done," Dr. Marquez announced, his voice a gentle interruption to the symphony of beeps and whirs. "Let's wake him up slowly." Karen felt her own heart rate spike as the anesthesiologist began reversing the medication. They removed the IV drip and the nurse wiped Plankton's mouth with a soft cloth, her touch as gentle as a sea anemone caressing his skin. His eye flickered open, unfocused and hazy. He blinked slowly, taking in the surroundings. Karen's screen was the first thing he saw, a beacon in the medical fog. "You're okay," she murmured, her voice the gentle hum of a distant lighthouse guiding his consciousness back to shore. Plankton blinked again, his vision swimming into focus. The weighted blanket was still wrapped around him, the comforting pressure now a grounding reminder of her presence. His mouth felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. The nurse offered him water, and he sipped it slowly, feeling the coolness soothe his throat. "How do you feel?" Dr. Marquez asked, his voice a soft wave breaking over the shore of Plankton's awareness. Plankton nodded, his grip on Karen's hand firm. "Good," he managed to murmur, his voice thick with the aftermath of the anesthesia. Karen could see the relief in his eye, the storm of fear now a distant memory. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous )

𝖡𝖱𝖠𝖨𝖭 𝖢𝖧𝖨𝖯 𝗉𝗍. 10 (𝖡𝗒 𝖭𝖤𝖴𝖱𝖮𝖥𝖠𝖡𝖴𝖫𝖮𝖴𝖲) Plankton took a deep breath, his antennae drooping. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse as he looks around. Chip stared at his father, his eyes brimming with tears. "You scared me," he whispered. "Mom said you had a-" But Plankton cut him off, his voice cold. "I wasn't talking to you," he said, his gaze sliding away from Chip's. "I was asking your mother." The hurt in Chip's eyes was like a knife to Karen, but she knew better than to push. Chip looked at her, his eyes desperate for answers. "But Mom, what's going on?" he whispered. Karen took a deep breath. "Your dad's been going through some changes," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "He's not the same as before, and we're still trying to figure it all out. You can ask us questions, but it's your dad's story to tell." Chip's curiosity was piqued, his need for answers overriding his fear. "What do you mean by changes?" he asked, his voice shaky. "Are you sick? What's wrong, Da-" "I'm fine," Plankton said, his voice sharp. "Just leave it, ok?" His tone was final, his gaze avoiding his son's. He could feel the weight of his own emotions, the fear of being seen as weak, as different. The anger was a shield, a way to push Chip away before the hurt could set in. But Chip has more questions. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice laced with determination. "But Dad, you're not fine," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "You're acting all weird and scary, and you're not talking to me or playing games like we-" "I said I'm fine!" Plankton's voice was a harsh bark, his antennae snapping with agitation. The room felt suddenly too small, his anger a palpable force that made Karen flinch. "I don't need you poking around in my business!" His eye narrowed, his words cutting like a knife. "What don't you get?" Chip's eyes filled with tears, his lower lip quivering. "But I'm your son," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own heart breaking. "You're supposed t---" But Plankton was already retreating, his back to them. "I don't need this," he murmured, still sitting. "I don't need any of this." "But Dad, I just want to help," he said, his voice shaky. "I don't understand why you're like this," he adds, reaching out to touch his dad's shoulder. But Plankton flinched away, his antennae quivering with irritation. "Don't touch me," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. But Chip remains undeterred. "I don't get it," Chip says, reaching out again to Plankton's back. "What happe—" But Plankton's voice was like ice. "Don't," he warned, his body stiffening. "Just, don't." His antennae twitched erratically, a silent testament to his internal storm. Chip's hand hovered, now setting it on Plankton's arm... The sudden contact sent a shiver down Plankton's spine, his body jolting as if electrified. "I said don't!" he snarled, his voice a whip crack in the silent room. He yanked his arm away, his eye wild. "Can't yo-" But Chip's hand remained firm, his grip now on Plankton's wrist, refusing to let go. "Dad, ple–" "Get OFF!" Plankton's voice was a snarl, his body writhing away from the touch. Chip felt like he was holding onto a wild animal, desperate to keep it from running away. "I don't understand," he choked out, tears streaming down his screen as he only held on tighter. "Dad, w---" But Plankton's anger boiled over. With a roar, he swung his arm back, slapping Chip's hand away. Chip's arm stung, his eyes wide with shock. "I said DON'T TOUCH ME!" Plankton's voice echoed through the room. Karen watched both her son and her husband. She knew this was hard for Chip, knew he was just trying to connect, to understand. But Plankton's autistic brain was like a delicate instrument, easily overwhelmed by the cacophony of emotions and sensations. She stepped forward, placing a hand on Chip's shoulder. "It's ok," she said, her voice soft. "Dad just needs his space right now." Chip looked up at her, his eyes swimming with tears. "But why?" he choked out. "Why is he-" "Chip, please," Karen said, her voice shaking with emotion. "We have to respect his boundaries." Her gaze was pleading, but Chip's determination didn't waver. "But he's my dad," he said, his voice strong despite the tremor. Plankton's body was a whirlwind of emotions, his eye flicking back and forth between his wife and son. He felt torn, his desire to push Chip away warring with his love for him. Chip's eyes searched Plankton's, his voice shaky but firm. "Dad, you can't just ignore me," he said. But Plankton's too angry to answer. Karen watched the scene unfold. Plankton's withdrawal was palpable, his body language screaming 'leave me alone'. He curled up into the armchair, his antennae pressed against his head. The room felt suffocating with his emotional walls. "Chip, let's go to your room," she whispered, her voice a gentle guide. With one last look at his father, Chip nodded, his eyes red and puffy. Plankton didn't move, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he curled further into his chair. The anger was a wave that had crashed over him, leaving him drained and ashamed. He didn't mean to hurt Chip, but the touch had been too much. He felt his world spinning, his senses on high alert, his thoughts a jumble of fear and frustration. Karen led Chip to his room, her hand firm but gentle on his shoulder. She knew he was hurt, knew he had so many questions. Once inside, she sat beside him on the bed, her eyes brimming with tears she fought to hold back. "Chip," she began, her voice soft. "You know how people are different, right?" Chip nodded, his eyes still wet from crying. "Yeah," he whispered. "Like, some people like chocolate, and some like vanilla." "Exactly," Karen said, taking a deep breath. "Well, sometimes, those differences aren't just about what we like or don't like." She paused, searching for the right words. "Sometimes, things happen to our brains that make it work differently. Like when you fall and get a bruise, your body needs time to heal. But brain bruises, well, injuries, can't be seen, and they can change how we think, feel, and even how we react to the world." Chip's eyes searched hers, his mind racing. "So, Dad's brain got bruised?" Karen shrugs, her voice soft. "No. It's called acquired autism. It's like a switch was flipped in his brain, changing the way he sees and feels things." She took a deep breath. "It's not his fault, and it doesn't make him less of a person, but it does make him see the world in a way that's new and sometimes scary for all of us." Chip looked down at his hands, his thoughts racing. "So he's not just mad at me?" "No, sweetie," Karen said, wiping a tear from her own screen. "It's not about you. It's about his brain learning how to process things differently now." Chip's brow furrowed, trying to make sense of it all. "But why does he get so upset when I just want to hug him?" Karen sighed. "Sometimes, when our brain changes like this, it's like suddenly the lights are too bright, or sounds are too loud, or touch feels like a hundred needles," she said, her voice gentle. "It's not that he doesn't want to hug you, it's just that his brain can't handle it the way it used to." "But I'm not hugging his brain," Chip asks. "No," Karen says, her voice soothing. "You're hugging him, his body. But it's his brain that interprets the hug. And right now, his brain is like a radio tuned to the wrong station. It's hearing things differently, feeling things differently." She pauses, looking for a way to make it more real for him. "Imagine if you were playing a video game and suddenly the controls changed. You'd get frustrated, right?" Chip nods. "That's what it's like for Dad. Everything he knew, everything he could do, it's like the cheat codes don't work anymore. And when you try to hug him, it's like someone turned the volume up really loud without warning." She takes a deep breath. "It's not that he doesn't love you, or that he doesn't want to play games or tell stories. It's just that his brain needs more time to understand the world again." Chip nods slowly, his eyes still full of unshed tears. "So, what do we do?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "We help him," Karen says, wiping at her own tears. "We learn about his new 'station', and we help him adjust to it." She smiles sadly. "It's like we're explorers, discovering a new world together."

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 𝟷,𝟼𝟸𝟷 Karen walked into the bedroom. Plankton lay on their bed, face half-buried in a pillow. His snores rumbled through the quiet room. She took a moment to appreciate his vulnerability before she gently nudged him awake. He groaned, his eye fluttering open. She offered a soft smile. "It's time," she whispered. "You're fine." He nodded. The drive to the oral surgeon's office was tense. The brightness of the day seemed to mock his anxiety. Karen's hand squeezed his, a silent promise of support. As they checked in, the receptionist's smile was practiced, but kind. The exam room surgeon, a man named Dr. Musselwhite, came in. He explained the procedure once more. The nurse began preparing anesthesia. "You're doing great," Plankton took a deep breath, vision blurring. The last thing he saw was Karen's face before the world went dark. Karen watched the monitors as Plankton's breathing evened out. She clutched his hand, her thumb making small circles on his palm. Plankton's snores had been replaced by the steady rhythm of his breathing under anesthesia. She leaned forward to Plankton's still form. Her screen traced the IV line. Plankton's mouth was open Dr. Musselwhite peered into. Plankton twitched slightly in his sleep, but the doctor's hand remained steady. Plankton's chest continued to rise and fall steadily, oblivious to the battle being fought within his mouth. Dr. Musselwhite finished stitching. "It's done," he announced. "You did it," she murmured, voice cracking. Plankton lay still, his breathing even and deep. The surgery was over, and he was alive. Karen leaned down to kiss his forehead. The nurse smiles. "He'll be asleep for awhile," she said. Karen nodded. The only sounds were the whispers of medical staff and the hum of machinery. The nurse wheeled him into recovery, and Karen followed, the medication still working its magic. Plankton's features were relaxed in sleep, a stark contrast to the fear that had been etched there just hours before. Plankton's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, a silent testament to the successful procedure by the deep embrace of anesthesia. As he started to stir, the nurse offered a gentle smile as he began to come around. Plankton's eye fluttered open, his gaze unfocused and glassy. He blinked slowly. "Hi, sweetheart," Karen's voice was a warm embrace. "Whaa-...happen'd?" he mumbled. "You're ok," Karen said softly. "They took your wisdom teeth out." Plankton tries to piece together the fragments of his memory. He attempted to speak. "Ow?" he managed. Karen squeezed his hand. Plankton's head lolling slightly against the pillow. His mouth felt like a foreign landscape. Karen helped him sit up, the nurse getting gauze. "You're going to need to bite down," she said, handing him a piece of gauze. "It'll help with the bleeding." He pressed it to his mouth, the pressure sending a dull throb through his jaw. "Hold it there," the nurse instructed, her voice a gentle guide in his foggy world. "Keep the pressure steady. It'll help the bleeding to stop." Plankton nodded, his movements sluggish. The nurse handed Karen an ice pack. "This'll help," she said. "It's ok," she soothed. "You're all done. The hard part is over." Plankton nodded again, his brain still foggy from the remaining anesthesia. He looked around the recovery room, his gaze wondering. "Whath's thith?" Plankton pointed at a machine. Karen chuckled, the tension easing from her shoulders. "It's just monitoring you." He nodded, his eye still filled with wonder. He looked down at his hand, studying it as if it was the first time he'd seen it. "Thith...han," he said, his voice trailing off as he wiggled his fingers. "Yes, Plankton. That's your hand." He's mouth filled with gauze and drool slowly seeping out. "Karen?" he mumbles, his voice thick and groggy. "Wha's?" He points to instruments. "They're just tools the doctor used to help you," she explains gently. Plankton nods, his curiosity satisfied for the moment. His eye drift to the ceiling. "Why do the wight hab funny shapes?" Karen follows his gaze. "They're just patterns, Plankton. They help the ceiling look nice." He nods, the concept of aesthetics lost on him. The nurse returns to check his vitals. Plankton watches her with the same curiosity. "Whath thoze do?" He points to the stethoscope around her neck, his speech still slurred. The nurse chuckles. "It's how we listen to your heart." Plankton nodded, his gaze following as she placed the stethoscope on his chest. "Ca-- heaw it?" He asked, his curiosity unquenchable. "That's your heart beating." Plankton's eye grew even wider, the revelation a spark in the haze. "Wow," he whispered, his voice a mere breath. Karen watched his exploration with a mixture of amusement and affection. The nurse returned with discharge instructions, her words a blur to Plankton's still-numb mind. Karen took the papers. "Alright, let's get you ready to go home," she said, helping him to stand. Karen's firm grip on his arm steadied him. Karen helped him into the car. The seatbelt was a puzzle he couldn't solve under the fog of the lingering drugs, but Karen buckles him in before driving out of the parking lot. "Loog ath the treeth," Plankton mumbled. "They're waving hewwo," he said with a sleepy smile. Karen glanced over, her own smile growing. "Yes, sweetheart. They're saying hello." Plankton's gaze shifted to the mirror in the car. He blinked at his reflection, the gauze sticking out of his mouth. "Who thad?" He pointed at his reflection. Karen chuckled. "That's you, with a little extra padding." Plankton nodded, his thoughts a slow river in his sluggish mind. "Thith car...it moveths," he murmured. Karen chuckled. "Yes, dear, it's a car. It takes us places." "Wook ath the clowds," he whispered, his voice slurred. "Thath one...loks wike a...," "It's a cloud," Karen said, smiling at his childlike wonder. "It's just water vapor that looks like something we see in our imaginations." Plankton nodded, his eye drooping. The motion of the car and the gentle hum of the engine lulled him into a doze. His head nodded forward before snapping back up again. "Tired?" Karen asked. "Mm-hmm." His head lolled back against the headrest, his eye slipping shut. The car's AC whispered a gentle lullaby, the cool air playing with the strands of Plankton's antennae. His chest rose and fell in time with the rhythm of the engine, each breath a soft snore. They arrived home. Plankton stirred, his eye blinking open. Karen helped Plankton out of the car. She held him close, his weight a comforting reminder of his presence. Spot, the amoeba puppy, bounded over, his gelatinous body shifting shapes with excitement. "Spoth," Plankton mumbled. The puppy leapedfrogged over, his form morphing into a blur of happiness. Plankton's eye lit up. Plankton reached for Spot with a clumsy hand, his coordination still muddled. Spot nudged his palm with his squishy nose. "Wook, Spoth," Plankton slurred, his eye wide with childlike wonder. "I hav- a booboo." Spot nudges him. Plankton giggled. "Easy, Plankton," Karen cautioned, her voice a gentle reminder of his fragile state. Spot's eyes widened in surprise, his little body shivering with joy. He wriggled closer, his gelatinous tail whipping back and forth in a blur of excitement. Plankton laughed. They made their way to the couch, Plankton's steps uncertain, each movement accompanied by a little giggle. Spot followed. Plankton flopped onto the cushions, his body a limp noodle. Spot jumped up beside him. Plankton leaned onto by Spot, his head lolling. The puppy's a comfort. Plankton's eye grew heavy, the weight of his eyelid too much for his sluggish body to bear, his body going slack. "Rest," Karen said, kneeling beside him. "You've been through a lot today." His hand remained on Spot, the puppy a comforting presence. Plankton's breaths grew steady, his snores once again filling the room. Karen watched him sleep, his chest rising and falling beneath Spot's gentle weight. The house was quiet, the only sound the occasional snort from Plankton's nostrils. He slept all night, only waking up the next morning. Plankton awoke with a start, his mouth wet with drool, his eye focusing slowly. The gauze was still damp from the night's excess saliva. He sat up. "Wha..." Plankton looked around, the room spinning slightly. The couch was his bed, Spot his blanket. He reached up to his mouth, the gauze still in place, the taste of cotton in his mouth. The memory of the surgery was distant. Karen's face swam into view, her smile a warm sunrise. "How are you feeling?" she asked, her voice a gentle caress. Plankton's eye searched his mind, looking for the missing pieces. "I don't... member coming hone," he mumbled, the words slurred. Karen nodded, her smile soft. "You fell asleep in the car, sweetie. I brought you home." But any details were lost, a foggy dream slipping away with each passing moment. "Thish mouth," he said, his tongue probing the empty sockets. The pain was a dull ache, a reminder of his body's battle. Karen handed him a glass of water. "Thank you," he murmured. "You're not supposed to eat solids today," she reminded him, placing a bowl of soup on the coffee table. "But I made some nice, soft scrambled eggs and toast for you to chew." Spot's eyes glued to his owner, his tail wagging. Plankton's jaw felt like it was made of rubber, but the food was a heavenly comfort. Karen sat beside him, her screen never leaving his face, watching for any sign of discomfort. "It'th okay," he assured her, his speech still slurred. He took another bite, his mouth working carefully. The taste was muted, a distant memory of what food used to be. Yet, the warmth and texture brought a sense of normalcy to the post-surgery haze.

COMPUTER SENSORS i * "Karen!" Hanna exclaimed, throwing her arms around Karen in a warm embrace. "You made it!" Karen beamed. "Is the husband home?" Hanna asked, glancing around. "In our bedroom," Karen answers. "I don't think you've met!" Hanna followed Karen through the hallway. She'd heard of Karen's husband, Plankton, but had never formally met each other. Inside, Plankton sat on the edge of the bed. "Plankton, this is my friend Hanna," Karen announced, screen sparkling with excitement. Plankton looked up. He hadn't been expecting company, especially not someone so bubbly and vibrant. "Oh, Plankton," Hanna gushed, reaching out to him. She was a hugger, and she didn't hold back. She enveloped him. Plankton stiffened. It was... overwhelming. "It's so nice to finally meet you," Hanna said, her voice thick with sincerity. Hanna, ever the social butterfly, didn't seem to notice his discomfort. She plopped down on the bed beside him, her energy not even slightly dampened. "So, what do you guys have planned for the evening?" she asked, screen bright with excitement. "Well, we were just going to order in and watch a movie," Karen replied, shooting Plankton a knowing smile. She knew he liked his quiet evenings. "A movie night, huh?" Hanna clapped her hands together. "What's the film? I can stay and join!" Plankton wasn't one for sharing his personal space, especially with someone he just met. The bedroom was his sanctuary, a place of solitude where he could escape the world and be himself. Plankton managed a tight smile, his heart sinking. He wasn't in the mood for a romantic comedy, let alone one with Hanna's constant commentary and unbridled laughter. Karen quickly interjected. "Actually, Hanna, Plankton had his heart set on a sci-fi marathon tonight. You know, his usual Friday night routine." "Oh, I totally get it," she said, patting him. Plankton stiffened at her touch, his eye widening slightly. "Oooh, I know just the thing!" she exclaimed, jumping up and talking fast. "Karen, you won't believe this but I've got a DVD of 'Galactic Hearts' in my bag. It's got a bit of everything: romance, action, and a side of existential dread. Perfect for a Friday night in, right?" Plankton sighed inwardly. He knew he'd have to sit through it, if only to keep the peace. "Alright," he said, his voice tight. "Let's give it a go." With a resigned sigh, he trudged out to the kitchen to grab some popcorn and drinks. When he returned, Hanna had already claimed the spot beside him, leaving him no choice but to sit next to her, so he did, for Karen. The movie started, and Hanna was immediately engrossed, laughing and gasping at all the right moments. Plankton, on the other hand, felt like he was in an alien world of his own. Every time the romantic tension on screen built up, she would lean over and whisper something to Karen, who would giggle in response. The constant movement and noise were making his skin crawl. As the film went on, Hanna grew more and more absorbed in the love story unfolding before them. At one particularly dramatic scene, she reached over and grabbed Plankton's arm. "Oh, isn't this just the most romantic thing you've ever seen?" She gave him a squeeze not realizing the discomfort she was causing him. "Look at those stars," she whispered leaning closer. "It's just like they're reaching out to each other, isn't it?" Plankton shifted. He'd never been one for public displays of affection, and Hanna's affection was uncharted territory. He gently extracted his hand, placing it awkwardly on his lap. "I s'pose," he murmured, trying to keep his voice neutral. time she leaned in to whisper something to Karen, she brushed against him, sending a shiver down his spine. The movie's soundtrack swelled with a sappy love theme, and Hanna threw her arm around both their shoulders. Plankton stiffened. The room felt suddenly too warm, too small. He'd never been one for affection, especially not from someone he'd just met, and Hanna's touch was suffocating him. Her arm remained draped around his shoulders, her grip tightening every time the couple on-screen shared a tender moment. He tried to focus on the plot, but it was difficult with Hanna's sudden exclamations and loud sighs punctuating the silence. Karen seemed to be enjoying it, though, and he didn't want to spoil the evening. So, he sat, endured, and waited for the credits to roll. As the movie progressed, Hanna grew bolder with her displays of affection. She'd lean in close, her shoulder pressing into his, and whisper her predictions for the plot. He glanced at Karen, hoping for a reprieve, but she was caught up in the moment. Plankton sighed and turned back to the movie, trying to ignore the heat building in him. Hanna's hand found its way to Plankton's shoulder again. This time, she didn't let go. He cleared his throat, trying to subtly shift his body away from her touch, but she either didn't notice or didn't care. He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the weight of her arm and the way she kept brushing against him. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, begging for the solitude he craved. Hanna let out a contented sigh, her grip on Plankton's shoulder tightening involuntarily. He flinched, and she finally looked at him, her eyes wide with surprise. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice full of concern. "It's nothing," Plankton said, his voice tight. Hanna looked at him. "Oh, I get it," she said, her hand moving from his shoulder to give his knee a comforting pat. "Sometimes romantic scenes can be too much, huh?" Plankton nodded stiffly. Then, Hanna leaned over and whispered, "You know Plankton you're not so bad for a guy who pretends not to like romance." She elbows him, her touch playful and teasing. Plankton's eye widened, his heart racing faster than the spaceship on the screen. He tried to laugh it off, his voice strained. He tried to keep his expression neutral. She leaned in closer, her arm now looped around his. "I think you're secretly a softy." Plankton's discomfort grew. He swallowed hard, his eye darting to Karen for help, but she was too lost in the film to notice his distress. He cleared his throat again, trying to be subtle, but they're oblivious. Karen looked over at her husband, her smile fading slightly as she noticed his rigid posture. She knew he wasn't a fan of the film, but she didn't realize Hanna's personality was making him so uncomfortable. Hanna jumped up from the couch. "Oh my gosh, you guys," she exclaimed a little too loud, her screen bright with excitement. "That was the best movie ever!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Karen couldn't help but laugh. "You really liked it?" she asked, hoping to lighten the mood. "Liked it?" Hanna repeated, her voice incredulous. "I'm in love with it!!" Her exuberance was palpable, but Plankton remained silent. He felt a mix of relief that the movie was over and dread for whatever might come next. Hanna, noticing his lack of response, turned to him with a grin. "What did you think, Plankton?" Plankton felt uncomfortable under her gaze. "It's just not really my genre," he said, his voice a touch defensive. Hanna's smile didn't falter. "Oh, come on," she said, nudging him playfully. "Admit it, you were totally rooting for them in the end." "Oh, I was," Plankton said, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. "I was just hoping the asteroid might hit the spaceship first." Karen couldn't help but laugh, seeing the playful banter between her friend and her husband. "Ok ok," she said, standing up and stretching. "I think we've had enough romance for one night. How about we switch gears and play a board game?" Hanna bounced, her energy unflagging. "Perfect! What do you have?" Plankton started to feel dizzy. "I'll grab something," he said, his voice tight. He needed to get away, to regain some semblance of control over the situation. He retreated to the bedroom, going on his bed. ** ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

Hey guys, I'm 12 and I tried to create something cool. I hope you like it. 😜 ........................................ [)\\||//(] [-♡()♡-] [●\__/●]

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 2 (Autistic author) He blinked a few times, his vision clearing slowly. He saw her face, wet with tears, and his own realization dawned. "Oh, Karen," he whispered, his voice filled with remorse. Plankton struggled to sit up, wincing as pain shot through his head. The lab looked the same, but something felt off. The air was charged with an unspoken tension that Plankton couldn't quite put his finger on. He tried to recall the argument, but the details were fuzzy. All he knew was that he'd fallen, and now Karen was apologizing for something she wasn't even at fault for. He looked into her screen, searching for answers. "What happened?" he asked, his voice hoarse. Karen took a deep breath, steeling herself for what she had to say. "You had an accident in the lab," she replied, her voice calm and measured. "You hit your head." But as she watched him, she noticed something else. His movements were stiff, his gaze unfocused. He wasn't quite the same. Karen noticed that his usual vibrant expressions were absent, replaced by a vacant stare. She chalked it up to lightheadedness. "Karen," Plankton began, his voice still slurred. "Karen." He paused, his eye darting around the room as if searching for words. Karen felt a cold knot form. Something was different about him, something she couldn't quite place. His movements were rigid, his gaze unwavering, like he was seeing her but not really seeing her. "What is it?" she asked, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. Plankton's eye finally met hers, but there was no spark of recognition, no mischievous twinkle that she was used to. "Plankton glad to see Karen," he said, his tone flat and unemotional. That wasn't right. "Plankton, do you know where you are?" she asked nervously. Plankton nodded slowly, his gaze still unnaturally focused. "Home," he responded, his voice devoid of the warmth and love she was accustomed to. "The Chum Bucket." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the man she knew, but all she found was a distant shadow. Panic began to creep in as the gravity of the situation started to dawn on her. This wasn't just a bump on the head. Something was very wrong. "Do you remember me?" she asked, her voice trembling. Plankton's eye searched her, his expression unchanging. "Karen," he responds correctly. "Wife of Plankton. Computer wife as of July 31, 1999." The words hit Karen like a cold wave. He knew her name, but the way he said it, like he was recounting a fact rather than speaking to his beloved wife, chilled her to the bone. She felt the ground shift beneath her, her world tilting on its axis. "Plankton, what's wrong?" she asked, desperation seeping into her voice. He looked at her, his gaze unblinking. "Wife Karen," he said, his voice robotic. "Irritated with Plankton's lack of attention to anniversary dinner." The words were right, but the emotion, the love, the personality behind them was gone. It was like talking to a stranger, a very tiny, very confused stranger. Karen felt a tear roll down her screen. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she asked, her voice quivering. "I'm not just 'Wife Karen', I'm your Karen. Your partner, your best friend." Plankton's response was a mechanical nod. "Affirmative," he said, his tone unwavering. "Karen is wife. Plankton is husband." The coldness of his words cut through Karen like a knife. Her eyes searched his, desperately trying to find any sign of the man she knew was in there. "Plankton," she said softly, "it's me. It's Karen. Do you understand?" He nodded again, his antennae barely twitching. "Understood," he replied, his voice devoid of inflection. "And Karen is upset?" Karen nodded, trying not to crumble. "Yes, I'm upset," she managed to say, her voice choked with emotion. "But more than that, I'm scared. You're not acting like yourself, Plankton." He blinked, his gaze shifting slightly. "Scared," he echoed, as if trying to understand the concept. "Why Karen scared?" "Because you're not you," Karen managed to whisper, breaking with every robotic response. "You're acting so... different." Plankton tilted his head, trying to process her words. "Different how?" he asked, his voice still lacking any emotional depth. Karen took a deep breath, trying to explain something she didn't fully understand herself. "You're not showing your feelings," she said. "You're not... connecting with me like you usually do." Plankton's face remained a mask of confusion. "Connections," he muttered. "Emotional bonds." He nodded slowly. "Important for relationship. Plankton in love with Karen." Karen felt a flicker of hope. "That's right," she said, her voice gentle. "I know you love me. But you're not showing it, not like before." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly as he processed this new information. "Plankton must adjust behavior to align with Karen's desired emotional output; how?" Karen felt a pang of sadness. He was trying to understand, but his usual charm was nowhere to be found. She took his hand in hers. "Just talk to me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me what you're thinking, what you're feeling." Plankton looked at her, his expression still vacant. "Plankton thinking about Karen," he said, his voice flat. "Plankton feeling determined." Karen's eyes searched his, looking for any sign of the emotion his words conveyed. "Determined to what?" she asked, hopeful. "Determined to what," he echoed. "Karen saying, determined to what. Plankton determined to show Karen love, Karen saying determined to what." Karen realized the depth of his change. This wasn't just a concussion or a temporary loss of memory; it was something much more profound, something that had stripped him of his very essence. "Plankton," she began, her voice shaking, "I don't know what happened to you, but I need you to try. Can you tell me how you feel?" But then he starts to rock back and forth to stim, humming their wedding song. The sight of her husband's usually expressive features now so vacant and his movements so repetitive was alarming. Karen felt a sob rise in her throat, but she pushed it down. She needed to stay strong, for him. "Plankton," she said, her voice steadier than she felt. "Look at me. I need you to focus. Can you tell me how you feel, in your own words?" He stopped rocking and turned his head to look at her, his eye still distant. "Feelings," he repeated. "Love, anger, sadness, joy. Concepts. Plankton has them. Karen saying, determined to what." Karen's hope sank. The realization was setting in. This wasn't just a case of a bump on the head. Plankton's accident had changed him in a way she didn't fully comprehend. The lab, once filled with the warmth of his passion and dreams, now felt cold and sterile. Her mind raced as she searched for any indication of the man she knew. The way he spoke, the way he moved, it was as if a switch had been flipped. "Plankton, does your head hurt?" "Cephalgia via blunt force trauma. Getting better." He responds, flapping his hands. Karen's eyes widened at his unexpected use of medical terminology. "neurodivergence," she thought to herself. Could it be that her husband had somehow developed something from the fall? It was a long shot, but the lack of emotional connection, the repetitive behaviors, and the rigidity of his speech patterns were all hallmarks of it. She scans his brain and connected herself to the monitor. Plankton looks over and sees the brain scan. "Plankton's brain?" "Yes, Plankton.." Karen says. "Cerebellar cortex reduced synapses and showing minimal activity in the corpus callosum. Irreversibly reduced blood flow in between hemispheric..." "I've no idea what you're saying, honey." Karen interrupts. Plankton's face falls, his usual playfulness replaced by a look of confusion. "Neurotypical communication error," he says, his voice laced with frustration. "Karen, Plankton trying to say the fall caused disruption to myelination.." Karen's eyes widen in shocked confusion. "Myelination? Plankton, are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with fear. Plankton nods, his gaze fixed on the brain scan. "Neuroplasticity. Synaptic pruning. Autism acquisition," he says, his words coming out in a rush. Karen's mind reels at his diagnosis. Autism? It couldn't be. But as she looks at his rigid body language and his lack of emotional expression, she can't deny it.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 5 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob seems to notice something off about his friend. "Plankton, are you okay?" he asks, his tone concerned. "You seem a bit... distant." Plankton's eye snaps to Sponge Bob, his gaze intense. "Distant?" he repeats, as if the word is new to him. "Plankton not distant. Plankton focusing." Sponge Bob's eyebrows furrow, his confusion clear. "What are you focusing on?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton turns back to the clock, his antennae pointing straight up. "Seconds," he says, his voice filled with wonder. "They change, but always in the same pattern." "Well, I know it's your wedding anniversary today. What'd you get Karen?" Plankton turns to face him, his expression unreadable. "Anniversary," he repeats. "Karen." His antennae wave slightly, as if trying to access a distant memory. "Chum." SpongeBob's smile falters at his friend's detached response. "Is that all?" he asks, his voice filled with concern. "You know Karen deserves better, more than just..." "Better?" he repeats, his tone now tinged with something new: self-doubt. "Plankton did not provide adequate anniversary celebration?" "Well Plankton, Karen doesn't like it when you're just about work," Sponge Bob said, trying to be delicate. "It's your anniversary. It's a special day for the two of you, yet you don't seem to get it. And I can tell Karen's hurt.." Plankton's eye grew wide, his antennae drooping. The words sank in, and his body reacted in a way he couldn't control. He started rocking back and forth, his body mirroring his inner turmoil. The tears came suddenly, wetting his face as his cries echo in the living room, his tiny body trembling with the weight of his perceived failure. "Karen," he managed between gasps. "Hurt. Karen. No, Karen." Karen rushed to his side, breaking at the sight of his distress. "Plankton," she said, her voice soothing. "It's okay, honey. You didn't do anything wrong." But he couldn't hear her, his mind fixated on the thought of causing her pain. The tears streamed down his cheeks. His sobs were loud in the quiet room, each one a testament to his overwhelming guilt. "Karen," he choked out. "Karen, Plankton sorry Karen. Karen." Karen wrapped her arms around him, her own eyes filling with tears. "It's okay," she whispered, stroking his back gently. "You didn't do anything wrong." Plankton's sobs grew louder, his body convulsing with each breath. "Hurt Karen," he kept repeating, as if it was the only thought in his mind. Karen held him tighter, her own sobs muffled against his shoulder. "You didn't hurt me, Plankton," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You just got confused, that's all." But Plankton's mind was stuck on the pattern of his failure, his inability to comprehend and respond to her emotions. "Karen crying, Plankton fault. Sponge Bob say Karen upset." Sponge Bob looked at the two, his heart aching for his friend's pain. He didn't know what to do, his usual cheerfulness replaced with a solemn sadness. He tried to interject, "Plankton, Karen's not upset at you. She's just upset because she loves you." But Plankton's cries only grew louder, his body shaking with the force of his sobs. "Plankton not good," he wailed, his voice high-pitched and desolate. "Plankton hurt Karen." Karen's screen searched desperately for a way to comfort her husband, to show him that his love was enough. But his new neurodivergence made it difficult for him to understand her words, his mind locked in a pattern of guilt and self-loathing. "Plankton," she says, her voice quivering with emotion. "Look at me." She gently cups his cheek, wiping the tears from his face with her thumb. "I love you. You don't have to change for me." But Plankton's gaze remained on the clock, his sobs subsiding to hiccups. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae drooping. "Missed pattern. Karen, say Karen. Hurt, upset Karen." Karen broke anew, her hands shaking as she tried to reach for him, her voice a whisper. "Plankton, it's okay," she says, her screen pleading. "I'm right here. I'm not upset with you." But Plankton's gaze now fixed on Sponge Bob, his body still shaking with sobs. "Karen," he murmured, his voice muffled by his own distress. "Sponge Bob, Karen." Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his expression a mix of concern and confusion. She nodded slightly, urging him to speak. "Plankton," he said, his voice gentle. "Karen's upset because she's worried about you. She loves you. And so do I." Plankton's sobs began to slow, his gaze shifting from Sponge Bob and then to Karen. "Karen Plankton?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper. "I'm right here," Karen soothed, wiping away the remaining tears with her thumb. "I'm right here, Plankton. I love you."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 6 (Autistic author) Plankton's sobbing slowed, his chest heaving. He blinked, his eye focusing on her face. "Love," he murmured. "Karen love." Karen nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, I love you," she said, her voice shaky. "And I'll always be here for you." Plankton's antennae twitched slightly, his single eye searching hers. "Love," he said, his voice still flat. "Karen love Plankton. Good." Sponge Bob nods, though he doesn't know why Plankton's acting so different today. "But Plankton," he says, his voice careful. "Why are you talking like that?" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye reflecting confusion. "Talking?" he repeats. "Plankton not understand. How to speak?" Sponge Bob looked at Karen, his concern etched in his porous face. "It's okay," Karen said soothingly, her voice thick with emotion. "Plankton's just going through something." Sponge Bob nodded, his eyes never leaving his friend's distressed form. "But what happened to him, Karen? What happened with Plankton?" he asked, his voice hushed. Karen takes a deep breath, wiping her own tears away with the back of her hand. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you remember what happened today?" Plankton's antennae twitch as he tries to process her words. "Today," he repeats, his voice distant. "Fell. Head." Karen nods, her screen filled with compassion. "Yes," she says, her voice soft. "You fell and hit your head. It's changed how you see the world a bit." Plankton looks up. "Alterations in the cerebral lobe," he says, his voice flat. "Myelination levels fluctuated. Synaptic activity diminished. Corpus callosum damaged." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "Yes, baby," she says gently. "It's like your brain had to relearn how to talk to the rest of you." Sponge Bob's eyes widened. "Oh no, Plankton," he said softly. "What does that mean? How did you fall?" Plankton's antennae twitched as he recounted the events, his speech still monotone. "Invention. Fall on head hit floor." Sponge Bob's face fell, his heart heavy with concern. "Oh no, Plankton," he said, his voice filled with sympathy. "Is that why you're talking like this?" Karen decides to interject. "It's okay, Sponge Bob," she says, her voice trembling. "It's not just how he's talking. It's his whole...being. It's like he's seeing everything differently now. It's a rarity called 'acquired autistic syndrome' which will be life long with no cure." Sponge Bob's face falls, his spongy cheeks dropping. "But Plankton," he says, his voice full of worry. "What does this mean for you?" Plankton's gaze shifts to his friend, his expression unreadable. "Meaning?" he asks, his voice still monotone. "Plankton different. New patterns." Sponge Bob nods, trying to understand. "But you're still the same Plankton, right?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he considers this. "Same," he repeats. "But different." Karen nods, her grip on his hand tightening. "You're still my Plankton," she whispers. "We'll figure this out together."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 7 (Autistic author) Sponge Bob leaves, and it's bed time. The room is dimly lit. Karen helps Plankton into bed, his movements stiff and unyielding. "Pattern," he murmurs, his eye scanning the ceiling. "Ceiling. Pattern." Karen nods with love. "It's beautiful," she agrees, her voice soft. "But Plankton, it's time for bed. Can I get you anything?" He shakes his head, his antennas drooping slightly. "No, thank Karen. Pattern. Sleep." Karen nods, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world of patterns and precision. "I'll be here if you need me," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. He nods, his gaze never leaving the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Safe." Karen lies beside him, their bodies close but their worlds feeling so far apart. She reaches out, her hand trembling as it touches his arm. "Do you want me to turn the lights off?" she asks, her voice tight with uncertainty. Plankton nods, his gaze still on the ceiling. "Pattern," he murmurs. "No patterns. Sleep." Karen nods, her fingers tracing the outline of his arm, feeling the tension in his body ease slightly. She gently pulls the blanket up to his chin, tucking it in around him. "Okay, I'll keep the light off low," she says, her voice soothing. "But if you need anything, just let me know." Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Pattern," he murmurs. "Sleep." Karen nods, her own exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders. She lies down. "I'll be right here," she whispers, her hand finding its way to his. Plankton's antennae twitch again as he feels her warmth, the sensation unexpected and slightly overwhelming. "Karen," he says, his voice sleepy. "Warmth." Karen smiles, her eyes closed. "I know," she whispers. "It's okay. I'm here." Plankton's grip tightens slightly, his antennae relaxing. "Pattern," he says, his voice a mere murmur. "Karen. Sleep." Karen squeezes his hand back, aching for the man she loves, now lost in a world where the simple act of holding hands is a complex dance of sensory input and emotional regulation. "Pattern," she whispers back, her voice soothing. "We'll make new patterns together." Plankton's antennae quiver, his grip on her hand steadying. "New patterns," he repeats, his voice slightly more present. "Together." Karen nods, her eyes squeezed shut. "Together," she whispers, her voice shaky. "We'll make it work." Karen can feel Plankton's body begin to relax, his grip on her hand loosening slightly. As they lay there, Karen thinks back to their past anniversaries, each one filled with laughter, love, and the promise of adventure. This one was different, marked by a stark reality she wasn't prepared for. But she knows she'll do anything for him. Plankton's breathing evens out, his body slowly releasing tension. His hand is still in hers, a silent promise that she'll always be there for him. Karen wonders what tomorrow will bring, how they'll navigate this new world of patterns and precision. As sleep takes over, she whispers, "I love you, Plankton," hoping that his subconscious can still hear her, still understand the depth of her feelings. Karen listens to the sound of Plankton's snoring as she falls asleep. The next morning, Karen wakes up to Plankton still holding her hand as his antennae twitch in his sleep. She gently withdraws, careful not to wake him, and she can't help but smile through her tears that threaten to fall. In the kitchen, she starts making breakfast, trying to recall what she'd read about autistic individuals and their preferences. She remembers that Plankton used to love Krabby Patties, but now his taste might have changed. With care, she prepares a plate of square eggs and perfectly aligned toast, knowing that the visual symmetry might provide comfort. She even arranges the condiments in a pattern she hopes he'll find pleasing. As Plankton enters the room, his eye immediately scans the table, his antennae twitching. He takes a seat, his movements mechanical. "Breakfast," he says, his voice devoid of his usual zest. Karen's watching him closely. "Yes, Plankton," she says, her voice steady despite the fear swirling inside her. "I made you your favorite." He nods, his gaze locking onto the plate before him. His hand reaches out, his movements calculated. He picks up a piece of toast, studying it before placing it back down. "Pattern," he whispers, his antennae waving slightly. Karen watches him. "Would you like to eat?" she asks, her voice tentative. Plankton's antennae wave slightly. "Eat," he says, his voice flat. "Pattern." Karen nods, her smile forced. "Okay," she says, taking a seat opposite him. "Let's eat together." Plankton's antennae twitch as he looks at her, his gaze quickly shifting to the breakfast she's prepared. He picks up a piece of toast, examining it closely before taking a bite, his jaws moving in a precise, mechanical manner. Karen watches him, her screen filled with a mix of worry and love. "Is it good?" she asks, her voice hopeful. Plankton nods, his mouth still chewing. "Symmetry. Good." Karen's heart squeezes at his response. It's not the same, but it's something. "I'm so glad you like it," she says, forcing cheerfulness into her tone. "That makes me happy!" Plankton nods, his antennae barely moving. "Happy," he repeats. "Karen happy."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 3 (Autistic author) "Sorry," Plankton says, his tone still flat. "Plankton, sorry. Plankton's brain different now. Difficult for Karen?" Karen shakes her head, tears welling in her eyes. "No, Plankton, you're still you," she says, trying to smile. "I just wanted to understand." Plankton nods, his gaze returning to the brain scan. "Understanding important," he says. "Plankton still loves Karen. Just different now. Permanent." Karen breaks at his words, but she knows he's trying. They sit in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Karen takes a deep breath. "I love you, Plankton," she says, her voice steady. "And I'll always be here for you, no matter what." Plankton nods, his expression unchanged. "Karen love Plankton," he responds. "Plankton love Karen." They sit together on the couch, the silence between them heavy with the weight of their new reality. Karen tries to find comfort in the familiar rhythm of his words, but it's like hugging a statue. There's no warmth, no give. But she can tell by the look in his eye that it's present. "Plankton," she says softly, her voice trembling slightly. "Do you want to go to the anniversary dinner?" He pauses, his gaze unwavering from the brain scan. "Anniversary dinner," he repeats, as if tasting the words. Then, with a sudden nod, "Plankton will accompany Karen." Karen swells with hope. Maybe this wasn't the end of their connection. Maybe they could find a new way to be together. "But Plankton," she says, her voice tentative. "I need you to be comfortable. If going out is too much for you, we can do something else." Plankton's antennae twitch, his face contemplative. "Understood," he says after a moment. "Home dinner preferred. Less stimulating." Karen nods, feeling a weight lift slightly from her chest. "Okay," she says, swiping at a stray tear. "We can have dinner here. I'll make your favorite." Plankton's antennae perk up at the mention of food. "Karen cook?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of excitement. Karen smiles, relieved at his interest. "Yes, I'll cook," she says. "How about some Chum?" Plankton nods eagerly. "Chum. Yes." Karen rises from the couch, determined to make the best of the situation. She heads to the kitchen, her mind racing with ideas for a simple yet delicious meal that would be easy on his senses. She chooses a recipe that doesn't have too many ingredients or smells that might overwhelm him. As she starts cooking, Plankton watches her with his newfound detachment, his eye following her movements with a clinical interest. It's as if he's studying her, trying to understand her actions. "Plankton," Karen says, trying to engage him, "can you help me set the table?" Plankton nods, his movements mechanical as he rises from the couch. He takes the plates and utensils she hands him and arranges them with meticulous precision. Each item is placed exactly 1.5 centimeters apart, the forks and knives aligned at a perfect right angle. It's something she's never noticed him do before, but it's a part of him now. As she stirs the pot of simmering chum, she glances over at him, his single eye focused intently on the task at hand. She wipes a tear from her eye, her heart heavy. But she can't dwell on the sadness. They have a life to live, and they'll figure this out together. "Plankton," she calls out, trying to keep her voice light. "Could you please grab the napkins?" He nods and heads to the drawer, his steps measured and deliberate. When he returns, he doesn't hand them to her but instead counts them out loud. "One, two." He holds up both napkins, one for each place setting. "Is this correct?" Karen nods, her smile tight. "Yes, thank you." She tries not to let the sadness seep into her voice. This was their new norm, a dance of understanding and patience that they were still learning. As they sit down to eat, Karen notices that Plankton doesn't touch his food until she does. "You don't have to wait for me," she says gently, trying to ease into their new routine. "You can start whenever you're ready." Plankton nods, his movements precise and deliberate as he takes his first bite. Karen watches him carefully, noticing that he's chewing his food much slower than normal. She wonders if it's because his sensory input has changed or if it's just part of the neurodivergence. They eat in silence, the only sound being the occasional clink of their utensils and the bubbling of the chum. Karen tries to think of something to say, something that won't cause him discomfort or confusion. But her mind is a whirlwind of questions and fears. "Plankton," she says tentatively, "Do you like the chum?" He nods, his movements methodical. "Chum. Yes. Good." His voice is still flat, but she can see the faintest glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. They continue their meal, Karen forcing down bites while her mind spins with a whirlwind of emotions. Fear, sadness, hope, and love all intermingling in a tumultuous storm. "Plankton," she says, her voice soft and tentative. "What are you thinking about?" He looks up from his plate, his eye focusing on her for a moment before returning to his food. "Thinking," he says, his voice monotone. "Plankton thinking about Karen. And Plankton with Karen." Karen aches at his response, but she tries to keep her expression neutral. "Do you like spending time with me?" she asks, desperation tingeing her voice. Plankton pauses, his eye flicking up to meet hers. "Plankton enjoys Karen's company." Karen clenches at his words, so devoid of the warmth they once held. But she knows she has to be patient, to give him space to navigate this new world. "Do you enjoy talking to me, Plankton?" He considers this for a moment before nodding. "Talking is good. Plankton learns things. Plankton feels safe." Karen feels a tear roll down her screen. "That's all I want," she whispers, reaching out to squeeze his hand. His grip is firm, but there's no warmth in it. It's as if he's trying to mimic the physical cue of comfort without understanding the emotional connection. "Karen crying sad?" He asks retreating his hand. "I'm sorry," she says, her voice cracking. "I didn't mean to hurt you earlier. I just wanted to spend our anniversary together." Plankton nods, his expression unreadable. "Understood," he says. "Anniversary. Special."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠀⠑⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⠑⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡾⠀⠀⠀⠈⢂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡌⠀⠀⠀⠑⢆⡀⠠⠌⠈⠁⠈⠈⠐⠀⠺⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠑⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡘⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠜⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠀⠤⣀⠈⢆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡸⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠃⠀⢀⠤⠊⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠑⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⡞⠁⠀⠀⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⣤⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠋⡠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⠶⠒⠛⠉⠉⠈⢂⠀⠀⠀⠛⠀⣀⣤⠾⠛⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠳⣤⡀⠀⠀⠀⡎⠉⣀⣀⣀⣠⣄⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣶⣿⣿⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⠶⢤⣀⠱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠺⢦⣄⡠⠀⠉⠁⠀⠀⠸⠐⠋⠁⠀⢀⣀⣤⣽⣿⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠉⠛⠷⣦⣄⡀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠱⡀⠀⠀⠐⠓⠚⠛⠛⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⠀⠀⠀⢀⠇⣠⠴⠶⠛⠉⣡⡾⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠈⠙⠷⢦⡀⠀⠀⢠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠠⡤⠤⠤⠼⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⠀⢀⣤⡾⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣤⣤⣶⡶⠶⠶⠿⢿⣷⠀⡐⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠒⠤⡀⠆⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⢀⣴⠿⠩⠤⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟⠋⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢾⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⡸⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢄⠀⢻⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠈⠢⠄⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠜⢣⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠄⠘⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠁⠀⠈⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀⠆⠀⠀⠀⢀⠠⠄⢄⡀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡁⢇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠹⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡰⠀⡠⠐⠁⠀⠀⠀⡇ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡃⠈⠓⠂⠒⠊⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⣄⠀⠀⠀⢀⣾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⠇⠊⠀⠀⠀⢀⠄⠊⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠛⠷⣦⣤⡾⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡴⠚⠁⠀⠀⠀⡠⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠴⠒⠒⠂⠤⠀⣀⠀⠀⢳⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠴⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⡠⠔⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠑⠂⠙⠢⠤⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠇⢀⡠⠔⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⡠⠐⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠈⠁⠐⠂⠤⢀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠐⠒⠂⠀⢤⣤⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠞⠁⠀⠀⠀⣀⠄⠂⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠒⠒⠒⠢⠤⠤⠤⢄⣀⡠⠴⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠠⠒⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢨⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

COPEPOD AUTISM pt. 1 (Neurodivergent author) "What's for dinner tonight?" Karen asks her husband Plankton the kitchen. "I'm trying out something new today!" He replies. Plankton moves about with surprising grace for his small size. Karen watches, admiring his enthusiasm despite her skepticism of his culinary skills. "Careful with that pan!" she calls out, noticing the way he flips it in the air. But it's too late. The pan slips from his grip, and as it hits his head with a deafening clang, Plankton crumples to the floor, out cold. Karen sprints to the kitchen and crouches beside her unconscious husband. "Plankton! Wake up!" she says, shaking him gently. His eye remains closed. She notices his pulse and breathing so at least he's alive. She scans him and the results show he acquired Autism. She's heard about it, how interactions with others are hard and how sensory shutdown can cause episodes similar to a seizure. Panic starts to set in. She has to get him to the couch. With a deep breath, she hoists his limp body over her shoulder and carries him carefully to the couch. She lays him down, his head resting on a pillow she grabbed on the way. Karen's attention is solely on Plankton. She strokes his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his pulse beneath her fingertips. The house feels too quiet, the air thick with concern. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that might help him feel comfortable. Karen starts to hum a lullaby, hoping the tune might calmly wake him. Only the next afternoon does Plankton start to wake. His eye began to flutter open. "What happened?" he mumbles. Karen smiles, relieved. "You had a bad fall in the kitchen. Do you remember anything?" Plankton's eye widens as his hand shoots to the spot on his head where the pan had hit. "Oh, cooking, right?" His voice is groggy, his memory foggy. "Yes, but let's not worry about that now," Karen says, squeezing his hand. She notices his confusion, the way his gaze flits around the room, searching for clues. "You acquired Autism." Plankton blinks a few times, taking in the soft light and the worried face of his wife. He tries to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washes over him. "Autism?" he repeats, the word foreign on his tongue. Karen nods gently. "It's ok, Plankton," she says, her voice soothing. The revelation hangs heavily in the air between them. Plankton's mind races. The room seems to spin as he tries to process the news. Rocking back and forth, he starts to self-soothe, a common behavior among those with autism when overwhelmed. Karen, who has read about this, understands it's his brain's way of coping with the onslaught of new information and sensations. "It's ok," she whispers, her voice steady. "You can stim however you need to." Her words act like a key unlocking a door. Plankton's hands begin to flap, and he lets out a soft hum, a melody that fills the silent room. "It's ok," she says softly, "Stim if it helps." The rhythmic motion and soothing sound of Karen's voice help to calm him down. He stops flapping, but the hum continues, a gentle echo in the quiet. Plankton's eye locks onto hers, searching for comfort. "I'm here," she says, her tone a gentle reassurance. Suddenly, his eye lit up as he repeats her words, "You're here," his voice a mirror of hers. It's echolalic, a common trait in those with autism, where they repeat sounds or phrases. "You're here," he repeats, over and over, the phrase becoming a comforting mantra. His palilalic speech is a bridge between the overwhelming confusion and the familiar presence of his wife. Karen nods. She's read that palilalic repetition can be soothing for those with autism. "You're here," Plankton says again, his voice growing stronger with each repetition. The words become a rhythm, a heartbeat of reassurance that he clings to as the world swims into focus. Plankton's eye refocus on Karen's screen, and a tiny smile appears as he understands her acceptance. He starts to rock more comfortably, matching the rhythm of his humming. The house feels like a sanctuary, a bubble wrapped around them, their shared breaths the only sound. Karen's eyes well up with tears, but she holds them back, not wanting to interrupt this moment. His humming gradually fades into silence, and he looks at Karen. "We'll figure it out," she says firmly, her voice a lifeline in the stormy sea of uncertainty. "We'll learn about Autism and adjust our lives. You're not alone in this, Plankton." Her words seem to anchor him. He takes a deep breath, and his body relaxes against the couch cushions. "Thank Karen," he whispers, his voice cracking. Karen nods, blinking away her own unshed tears. "We're going to be okay," she says, more to convince herself than anything. Plankton's smile grows a little wider, and his hand reaches for hers. "What's next?" he asks, his voice still weak but steady. Karen rises from the floor and moves to the bookshelf. Her fingers trace the spines, landing on a worn-out book titled "The Art of Cooking." She pulls it out gently and holds it out to him. Plankton's eye lights up at the familiar sight. It's his favorite book, filled with recipes and notes he's collected over the years. He takes it with trembling hands, feeling the weight of the pages. "Let's start slow," Karen suggests, sitting beside him on the couch. "We'll go through the book together, and maybe we'll find something simple for tomorrow's dinner." Plankton nods, flipping through the pages with newfound carefulness. "How about we start with spaghetti?" Karen offers, pointing to a simple illustration on the page. It's a dish they've made together countless times. "Spaghetti," he repeats, the word like a warm blanket around his new reality. "How about we start with spaghetti.." They spend the rest of the day going through the book, discussing ingredients and steps, Karen explaining things in a way that's easy for Plankton to understand. His focus intensifies, his eye lighting up with every new piece of information. The kitchen accident seems like a distant memory, replaced by the comforting familiarity of cooking.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 1 (Autistic author) "You never listen to me!" Karen exclaimed, her voice echoing through the small lab. Her husband, Plankton, looked up from his invention, a frown furrowing his brow. "What's wrong now?" he asked. "It's the same thing, every single day," Karen said, crossing her arms. "You're always so focused on your work, you forget what's important." Plankton sighed, setting down his wrench. "And what's that?" Karen's eyes flashed with frustration. "Our anniversary dinner, for one," she said. "You promised we'd go out tonight, remember?" Plankton's frown deepened as he tried to recall the conversation. "The dinner...right. I thought it was next week," he mumbled, his gaze darts back to his invention. "No, it's tonight!" Karen's voice was now a mix of annoyance and desperation. "I've had this all planned out for weeks, and you've barely even acknowledged it." Plankton looked at her, his eye suddenly wide with realization. "Tonight? But I've got the final adjustments. It's a breakthrough, Karen!" Karen threw her hands in exasperation. "It's always a breakthrough, isn't it? When are you going to realize that we need to make time for us?" Plankton took a step. "You know how important this is to me, to us," he said, his voice softening. "Once I get this right, we can finally be happy, have the life we deserve when I..." "When you what?" Karen interrupted. "When you finally steal the Krabby Patty formula?" she finished for him, her tone heavy with sarcasm. "Is that what you think will fix everything?" Plankton's shoulders slumped. He knew his obsession with Mr. Krabs' secret formula was a sore spot for Karen, but he couldn't help the hope that burned inside him. "It's not just about that," he said, trying to explain. "It's about proving to everyone, including myself, that I can do something big." He gets up on the shelf. Karen turns away. Karen's frustration boiled over, her face flushing. "You're so caught up in this ridiculous vendetta that you don't even see what you're doing to us!" she yelled, slamming her hand down on the lab table. The sudden noise startled Plankton enough to wobble on his precarious perch, and with a tiny squeak of terror, he lost his balance and toppled over. His invention fell with him, colliding with his head with an ominous clank. Karen turns around, her anger replaced with concern in an instant. "Plankton, are you ok?" He lay still. Karen rushed over. He was unconscious. Karen knelt beside his tiny body. "Plankton," she whispered, shaking him gently. Panic began to set in as he didn't stir. The weight of her actions crashed down on her. She hadn't meant for it to go this far. "Plankton, talk to me," she begged. With trembling fingers, she checked for a pulse. It was faint but there, and she felt a small wave of relief. But he was still out cold. Her mind raced as she tried to think what to do next. Calling for help was out of the question; their rivalry with Mr. Krabs meant they couldn't afford any more attention from the authorities. She knew they gotta wait it out. Gently, she picked him up. He was surprisingly heavy for his size. Carefully, she cradled him in her arms and laid him down on the couch. The room was eerily silent except for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Karen sat beside his unconscious form, her eyes brimming with worry. The fight they'd just had seemed trivial now. "I'm sorry," she murmured, stroking his antennae gently. "You're right, I know how much this means to you. But I just want you to know that no matter what, I'm here for you." Her voice was barely above a whisper as she talked to him, as if fearful that speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile peace that had settled over the room. "You don't have to prove anything to me, or to anyone else. I'm proud of you just the way you are." Karen's eyes searched Plankton's face for any sign of movement, but his features remained slack, his eye closed. She leaned in closer. "You're a brilliant inventor," she continued. "But you're also a husband, and I need you to remember that." Her voice was filled with a mixture of love and desperation. "I know you can't hear me right now, but I need you to know," she continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I know you're tired of always being second best. But to me, you're not just Plankton, you're the man I chose to spend the rest of my life with." Karen took a deep breath, her hands shaking as she held onto his limp form. "We've been through so much together, and I know you think the Krabby Patty is the key to our happiness, but it's not. It's you. It's us." Her voice grew stronger, fueled by the passion of her words. "We can have a great life without that formula. We can build something new, something just for us." Plankton's chest began to rise and fall more evenly, his breathing steady. Karen watched him, hope growing in her heart. Maybe he could hear her after all. "When you wake up, let's talk. Let's put this behind us and make a promise to each other to make our marriage a priority," she pleaded, her eyes never leaving his face. The minutes dragged by, each one heavier than the last. The silence in the lab was a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of whirring machines and Plankton's excited exclamations. Karen's mind raced with thoughts of all the times they'd shared, laughing and planning together, and she couldn't help but reflect on their relationship. The countless nights spent in the lab, the stolen glances of affection, and the shared dream of a better future. It all flashed before her eyes, and she realized just how much Plankton meant to her. With her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned closer to his unconscious form, her voice trembling. "Plankton, please wake up," she whispered. "I need you to hear me. Our love is our greatest invention, not some secret recipe. I know I've been pushing you, but it's because I see how much this obsession consumes you." She took a deep breath, her voice steadying. "But if you can't let go of this dream, I'll support you. I'll always be here, by your side, no matter what." After a long silence, Plankton groaned. Karen gasped, her eyes filling with relief as she saw the spark of consciousness as he opens his eye. He groaned softly, his hand coming up to rub his head. "Where?" he mumbled, his voice slurred with confusion. Karen took his hand, her voice gentle. "You're on the couch, Plankton. You fell."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 11 (Autistic author) Plankton moves slowly to the bed, his eye fixed on the lamp. His movements are deliberate, his body still tense from the recent meltdown. Sandy watches, her heart in her throat, as he fiddles with the lamp, adjusting the brightness until it's just right, a soft glow that doesn't assault his senses. "Thanks," Plankton says, his voice still flat, but with a hint of genuine appreciation. Sandy's mind is a whirlwind of thoughts. She wants to help, to ease his pain, but she doesn't know how. "Can I do anything else?" she asks, her voice tentative. Karen looks up at her, her eyes tired but filled with gratitude. "Just give him some space," she says, gently. "Let him adjust." They exit his room. Sandy and Karen talk about other things for a bit before Karen decides to check on Plankton, Sandy following her. They find Plankton curled up in the center of the bed, his body wrapped tightly in the blanket Karen had used to soothe his meltdown. His antennae remain still, his eye closed. The room is quiet, the only sound his slight snores. "He's asleep," Karen whispers, her voice a soothing balm to the tense air. Sandy nods, watching Plankton's chest rise and fall beneath the blanket. His snores are soft, a stark contrast to the silence that had filled the room just minutes before. Karen smiles softly, relief washing over her. "This is his safe place," she whispers to Sandy, her voice filled with a quiet pride. "His retreat when the world gets too much." Sandy nods, her eyes studying the sleeping Plankton with a newfound compassion. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, and now she's witnessing his vulnerability. The room is bathed in a soft, warm light, the kind that makes you want to curl up with a good book. Plankton's snores are the only sound, a gentle reminder that he's still fighting, still with them. Karen watches him sleep, his face serene in slumber. The harsh edges of his autism softened by the oblivion of sleep. His body, usually so tense, is relaxed, the tapestry of the blanket a gentle wave that cradles him. Sandy steps closer to the bed, her heart aching for her friend. The Plankton she knew was a whirlwind of chaos and cunning, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She reaches out a tentative hand, brushing his antennae gently. They twitch under her touch, a silent acknowledgment of her presence. "I'm here," she whispers, her voice a soft promise. "I'll learn with you." Karen smiles, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you," she says, her voice a whisper. "He needs friends now more than ever." Sandy nods, her mind racing with the gravity of the situation. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this vulnerable side is new, unexpected, and it breaks her heart. She pulls back her hand, not wanting to disturb his sleep. Karen moves to the chair beside the bed, sitting down with a sigh. "It's going to be a long road," she says, her voice filled with both fear and determination. "But we'll figure it out together." Sandy nods, her eyes never leaving Plankton's face. "We're all here for you," she says, her voice firm. "We'll get through this." Karen's smile is grateful. "Thank you, Sandy."

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 8 (Autistic author) Karen's eyes well up with tears as she watches him eat, his movements so deliberate and calculated. It's a stark contrast to the impulsive and energetic Plankton she's known for years. She takes a deep breath, trying to focus on the small victory of his willingness to eat. As they sit in silence, Karen can't help but feel a sense of loss for the man she married. His eye darts around the room, his antennae twitching at every sound. She wonders what's going on in his mind. "Plankton," she says, her voice gentle. "What do you see?" He points to the toast, his finger trembling slightly. "Squares," he says, his voice flat. "Squares make sense." Karen nods, her eyes glistening with tears. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice soothing. "Everything is in its place." Plankton's antennae quiver slightly as he swallows the last of his toast. "Plankton," he murmurs, his gaze returning to the clock. "Time to...do." Before Karen could decipher his words, Sandy suddenly burst in through the door, as she ran up to the table. "I'm back from my trip to Texas!" Plankton's head snapped up, his antennae waving erratically. "Sandy," he murmured, his face contorting in an effort to process the new presence. "Howdy!" She says to him as she pats his shoulder, which irritates him. Plankton flinches, his antennas curling inward instinctively. "Sandy," he says, his voice tight. But she doesn't notice his discomfort. "How's my favorite mad scientist?" she asks, her voice booming as she nudges him with her elbow. Plankton's body stiffens, his antennae shooting straight up. "Sandy," he says, his voice strained. "No." "No? No what?" She asks him while poking at him with her finger. Plankton's eye widens, his body growing rigid. "Stop," he whispers, his voice strained. "Sandy, no." She sees his breakfast plate. "Oh, eggs and toast! Back in Texas, we spread the egg on to the toast." And without warning, she scrapes his eggs on his toast. If Plankton wasn't frustrated before, well he certainly is now. "Sandy, no!" Plankton squeaks out, his antennae waving wildly. The sudden change in his breakfast pattern is too much for his overwhelmed mind. "What's wrong?" Sandy asks, her cheerfulness not noticing his distress. "It's just how we do it back home!" She scoops up the eggs off the toast and put them back, yet his breakfast's already been ruined, not to mention the sight of bread crumbs in the egg.. Plankton's antennae are shaking rapidly now, his eye darting between the mashed eggs and the now crumbling toast. "Enough," he whispers, his voice tight. Sandy rests her hand on his shoulder. "Well then eat..." But Plankton can't. The disruption in his routine, the assault on his senses, the chaos she's brought into his carefully crafted world of patterns and precision, it's all too much. His body starts to shake. "No more, no NO!" he shouts, his voice a mix of frustration and panic. Karen jumps up. "Sandy, stop," she says firmly, placing her hand on Plankton's shoulder. "You're upsetting him." Sandy's expression falls. "But I put the food back, Plankton..." But it's too late. Plankton's eye widens, his antennae quivering. The plate of food before him is a mess, the calmness destroyed. "Food ruined!" he shrieks, his voice breaking. "Sandy, no good!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock, taking a step back. "Plankton I'm sorry!" But Plankton's accusations don't stop. "Ruined," he wails, his voice rising in pitch. "Sandy ruined breakfast. Now, broken!" Karen's heart races as she tries to soothe him, her voice calm and steady. "Plankton," she says, placing a gentle hand on his quivering arm. "It's okay. Let's make you a new plate." But Plankton's agitation only escalates, his eye wide with fear and anger at the sight of Sandy. "Sandy hurt Karen," he says, his voice shaky. "Sandy hurt Plankton. No good." "How'd I hurt..." Sandy starts, but Plankton's not gonna let her finish. "No good!" Plankton shouts, his antennae whipping around like tiny furious whips. Sandy's eyes widen with shock. She's never seen Plankton like this, not even when his plans were thwarted by Mr. Krabs. "I didn't mean to, Plankton," she stammers, her voice full of apology. But Plankton's rage is blind to her words, his mind locked onto the chaos she's brought into his life. "JUST LEAVE!" he screams, his antennae vibrating with fury. "BAD SANDY!" "Bad Sandy? I'm not a dog..." Sandy's voice trails off as she looks from Karen to Plankton, who's now rocking back and forth, his antennae flailing wildly. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice urgent but calm, "You need to breathe. Let's find a quiet place." She tries to guide him away from the table, but he resists, his eye locked on Sandy. "BAD SANDY!" he repeats, his voice high and frantic. Sandy's face falls, hurt and confusion etched on her features. She didn't understand, but she knew she needed to get Plankton to stop. So she took matters into her own hands. "PLANKTON," she bellows, her squirrelly instincts kicking in. Her voice cuts through the room like a knife, commanding his attention. Plankton's eye goes to her, his antennae stilled. "Quiet," he hissed, his body still tense. "Too loud." But Sandy won't let up. "Look at Karen," she says firmly. "Look at her, Plankton. Do you really think she'd wanna be with someone who'd hurt her?" Sandy gaslights. Plankton's gaze shifts. The room spins around him, his head throbbing with the cacophony of his thoughts. He feels like his brain's about to burst from the pressure, like a balloon filled with too much helium. Suddenly, Plankton's slipping into the abyss of overload. The room feels like it's closing in, sounds amplifying to intolerable levels, lights piercing his sensitive eye. His breathing turns erratic, his heart racing as if chasing an invisible foe. Karen catches Plankton before he can fall, as his legs buckled. Sandy's eyes widen in horror, seeing his distress. "Plankton," Karen says, her voice calm yet urgent. "Look at me, baby. Focus on my voice." But Plankton's eye is unseeing, his body convulsing with the onslaught of stimuli. She whispers, "It's okay," over and over again, hoping the comfort of her voice can penetrate the chaos in his mind. Sandy's eyes widen as she sees Plankton's condition worsening. She takes a step towards them, but Karen shakes her head. "No," she whispers, her screen never leaving his face. "Just us right now." Sandy nods, understanding dawning on her. She retreats to the corner of the room, giving them space.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 9 (Autistic author) Karen's voice is a soft lullaby in the chaos, guiding Plankton's gaze to her screen. "Look at me," she whispers. "Only me." She holds his hand, her thumb tracing small circles on his palm, the sensation grounding him ever so slightly. His breathing slows, but only a touch. The room seems to pulse around him, a cacophony of colors and sounds, but Karen's eyes are a safe haven. They're familiar, their warmth reaching through the fog in his brain. He tries to focus on her, to ignore the sounds that are too loud, the lights that are too bright. "Breathe," she whispers, her hand on his chest, guiding his erratic respiration into a calmer rhythm. His breaths become shallower, his antennae gradually stilling. But the world around them doesn't. The kitchen clock ticked loudly, a metronome of chaos in Plankton's disordered mind. Karen notices his distress and quickly wraps him in a soft blanket, creating a cocoon of quiet. "Only me," she says, her voice soothing. "Only my voice." Plankton's antennae stop twitching, his body still within the embrace of the blanket. His eye focuses on a single point on the wall, the only thing that doesn't shift and change. "Only me," Karen repeats, her voice the one steady beacon in the storm of sensory input. She watches his chest rise and fall, her heart breaking at his pain. The ticking clock becomes a monster in Plankton's mind, each second a taunt, a reminder of the chaos he can't escape. His hand grips hers tightly, his entire being seeking solace in her touch. Sandy watches from the shadows, her heart heavy with regret. "What have I done?" she whispers to herself, her voice barely audible over the whirlwind of Plankton's distress. The ticking clock seems to grow louder, its metronome beat echoing through Plankton's skull like a sledgehammer. His body starts to convulse, his grip on Karen's hand becoming painfully tight. "Plankton," Karen whispers, desperation coating her voice. "Look at me, love. Just me." But her words seem to fade into the cacophony, lost in the sensory assault. His pupil dilates, his entire being consumed by the relentless ticking. The wallpaper's pattern swirls before him, a dizzying maelstrom of colors and shapes that he can't make sense of. The soft pressure of Karen's hand is his only anchor in this storm of input. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her touch the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. He can feel her warmth, her love, but it's fading fast. The room spins, the colors bleed into one another, and the clock's ticking becomes a thunderous roar. Plankton's breaths come in short, sharp gasps as he tries to escape the prison of his own senses. Karen's eyes are wet with tears, her heart breaking as she watches her husband suffer. "Shh," she whispers, rocking him gently. "It's okay. I'm here." The room falls silent as Sandy holds her breath, the only sound the ticking of the clock that seems to mock them with its relentless rhythm. Plankton's body gradually stills, his convulsions giving way to twitches. His hand slackens in hers, the tension draining from his fingers. Karen's eyes never leave his face, her voice a soft whisper in the quiet. "Look at me," she says, her voice full of love and determination. "You're safe with me." But Plankton is gone, lost in the labyrinth of his mind. His body is a statue, frozen in the grip of autism's cruel embrace. His eye, once vibrant and full of life, is now a dull, glazed orbit, staring into the distance. The clock's ticking has become a muffled throb, a background noise to his internal crisis. Karen's voice is a distant whisper, her love a warmth he can't quite feel through the fog of his disordered thoughts. She holds him, rocking gently, her screen filled with a desperate hope. Sandy, from her corner, can't tear her gaze away. The sight of Plankton, usually so vibrant and scheming, reduced to a trembling shell is a stark reality she never anticipated. Guilt weighs heavy on her shoulders. Karen feels the weight of his hand in hers. It's a silent communication, his only way of telling her that he's still with her, even if he can't say the words. Sandy wants to help, inching closer but still giving space. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with guilt. Plankton remains unmoving, his body tense and rigid under the blanket. Karen holds him tightly, her own body shaking with sobs. "Come back to me," she pleads, her voice desperate. The clock's ticking seems to slow, each second a torturous eternity. Sandy stands still, her eyes fixed on the tragic scene before her, unable to offer comfort or understanding. Karen's sobs become whispers, her voice barely audible. "Come back," she pleads, her grip on his hand unyielding. "I need you." The silence stretches between them, thick and oppressive, filled only with the relentless ticking. The room feels like it's shrinking around them, the walls closing in. Plankton's body is a statue. Karen's voice is the only thing that pierces the veil of his panic, her touch the only thing that feels real. She whispers his name, her voice soothing like a lullaby. Slowly, Plankton's hand twitches, his antennae lifting slightly. The ticking of the clock becomes background noise again, the wallpaper's pattern ceases its maddening dance. But he still otherwise remains unmoving, unblinking. Sandy tries to engage with him. "Plankton, buddy, do you wanna talk about what happened?" But he doesn't respond, his gaze locked on the wall. "Can you tell me what's wrong?" she asks, her voice gentle. Karen shakes her head, wiping away her tears. "He's in a shutdown," she explains quietly. "It's like his brain has gone into overload and he can't process anything." Sandy nods, yet tries a different approach. "Hey, Plankton," she says softly, her voice a contrast to her earlier boisterousness. "What do you see when you look at that wall?" He doesn't answer, his body as still as the pictures hanging on the wall. Sandy's eyes well up with tears, her heart breaking for her friend. "Plankton, are you dreaming?" she asks, peering over. "Back," Karen whispers, not taking her screen off Plankton. "He's in a bad place right now." Sandy nods, her eyes swimming with tears. She understands now, the gravity of the situation dawning on her. "I'll make it right," she says, her voice determined. "I'll help you." Karen looks up at her, her own eyes red and puffy. "Thank you," she whispers, gratitude thick in her throat. "But for now, just let it be. We need to wait until he comes back to us." Sandy nods solemnly, backing away to give them space. She sits at the end of the couch.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 4 (Autistic author) Karen takes a deep breath, trying to keep her emotions in check. They need to find a way to connect, to bridge the gap that's grown between them. "Plankton," she says, "can you tell me about your day?" He looks at her, his eye blinking slowly. "Day," he repeats, his voice lacking the usual inflection. "Plankton worked on invention." Karen nods, trying to encourage him. "What kind of invention?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly. "Invention for Plankton," he says. "To make Karen Plankton happy." Karen's eyes fill with tears. Despite the lack of emotion in his words, she can feel the sincerity behind them. He's trying to connect, to share his world with her. "Looks like we both finished our dinner," she says, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's next on your agenda?" Plankton looks at her, his expression unchanged. "Agenda," he says, as if trying to remember the concept. "Plankton's next task. No get Krabby Patty formula. Rather spend time with Karen." Karen clenches at his words. Despite the flatness of his tone, she can feel his intention to please her, to make their anniversary special. "Let's clean up," she suggests, rising from her chair. Plankton follows suit, moving in a way that seems almost robotic. They work in silence, Karen placing the dishes in the sink and Plankton methodically wiping down the table. As she washes the plates, Karen watches him out of the corner of her screen. His movements are precise and efficient, with no wasted effort. It's as if he's calculating every action, trying to understand the purpose behind each task. "Plankton," she says softly, turning off the faucet. "Could you please dry these for me?" She hands him a towel and a plate. He takes them without a word, his gaze flicking from the towel to the plate, as if studying the physics of the interaction. He carefully wipes the plate, his movements measured and deliberate. Karen watches him with a mix of pride and pain. Despite his new condition, he's still trying to be the partner she knows. She forces a smile, trying to ignore the ache in her chest. "Thank you," she says, taking the dried plate from him and placing it in the cupboard. "You're doing great." He nods, his antennae twitching slightly. "Great," he echoes. "Karen happy." As they go to the living room, Plankton's gaze is drawn to the digital clock on the wall. His eye fixates on the changing seconds, each tick a silent metronome in their otherwise quiet space. Karen notices and wonders if she should be concerned about his newfound interest in something so mundane. "Clock," he says, his voice still monotone. "Time changes. Incremental." Karen follows his gaze to the digital clock on the wall, the red numbers flipping from one second to the next with a quick, silent efficiency. "Does the clock bother you?" she asks, noticing his fixation. Plankton shakes his head, his eye still glued to the display. "No," he says, his voice thoughtful. "Time. Changes. Fascinating." Karen watches him, seeing a spark of curiosity she hadn't noticed before. "You've never liked clocks before," she points out, trying to keep the conversation going. "What's so interesting about it now?" Plankton's antennae wave slightly as he tries to explain. "Clock," he says, his voice still flat. "Time. Changing. Predictable." His single eye remains locked on the red digits, the fascination growing. "Seconds restart each minute." Karen nods, watching his expression closely. "It's like a pattern," she suggests. "A routine that doesn't change." Plankton nods, his eye still glued to the clock. "Pattern," he repeats. "Comforting." Karen nods, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Maybe you find comfort in the predictability?" she offers. Plankton's antennae bob slightly, as if considering this new perspective. "Comfort," he murmurs. "Consistent. Understood." Karen sits down beside him, her screen drawn to the clock as well. "Tell me more about the pattern," she says, trying to find a way into his new reality. "What do you see when you look at it?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly as he considers his answer. "Pattern," he repeats. "Time, changing. Predictable." His voice is softer now, almost lost in thought. "One, two, three, four, five. Always same." Karen nods, her screen still on the clock. "It's like counting," she says. "Do you like counting?" Plankton's antennae twitch once again. "Counting," he repeats, his tone thoughtful. Suddenly, Sponge Bob comes in. "Plankton," he says, his eyes wide with excitement. "What are you guys up to?" Karen looks over, a forced smile on her screen. "Just talking about time," she says, hoping SpongeBob's entrance will provide some much-needed distraction from the heaviness of their conversation.

COMPUTER SENSORS ii * * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * "Plankton?" Hanna's voice called. "You've been in there for a while." But there was no response from the bedroom. Karen's smile faded as she heard the silence. She knew her husband well enough to recognize when he'd reached his limit. She excused herself and went to check. Plankton was indeed on the bed, his eye squeezed shut. His body was rigid breathing shallow. Karen ached for him; she knew he was in the throes of sensory overload. Karen approached the bed gently, not wanting to startle him. She sat down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Plankton," she said softly. "You ok?" He didn't move, didn't speak. He just lay there, a tense coil of discomfort. Karen knew to recognize the signs of his overwhelm. The way he curled tightly around his body, the shallow breaths that spoke of his struggle to regain control. He was in his own world now, one where the bombardment of Hanna's sounds and touch had become too much. "Plankton," she said again, her voice a gentle whisper in the room. "You don't have to be out there if you don't want to." The touches, the sounds, Hanna— all too much. Karen's expression filled with understanding. "It's alright," she assured him, her hand gently rubbing his back. "You don't have to force it." Plankton nodded, his body slowly relaxing under her touch. He let out a sigh. Karen knew Plankton's not one for crowded spaces or unexpected physical contact. "Hey, guys, everything ok in here?" Hanna's voice was cheerful, but there was a hint of concern that had crept in. She searched the room, her gaze landing on Plankton's rigid form. Her smile faltered for a second, a flicker of confusion crossing her features. "Is he ok?" "He's... overwhelmed," Karen said. She knew Hanna didn't mean any harm, but she also knew her friend's boundless enthusiasm could be to much for Plankton to handle. Hanna's expression grew more puzzled. "What's there to be overwhelmed about?" Her curiosity piqued. "What's going on with you Plankton?" she asked, taking a step closer to the bed. Plankton jolted slightly, but he remained silent, eye still closed. "I don't get it.." Karen took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Plankton's a bit... sensitive to stimulation," she began. "He needs his quiet time. Nothing against you, Hanna; just how he is." Hanna grew more concerned. "But I didn't mean to," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to have a good time." Karen patted Plankton's shoulder, her screen never leaving his face. "It's not you, Hanna," she assured. "It's just that to much noise, touch, all just gets to be to much for him." "How?" "Some people need more space than others. It's not a reflection on you or your company." "But I don't get it," Hanna said, her voice quiet. "What did I do?" "You didn't do anything wrong," Karen assured her, her hand still resting on Plankton's shoulder. "It's just that Plankton's sensory input is overwhelmed easily." Hanna looked from Karen to Plankton, full of questions. "But I didn't do anything weird; did I?" "No," she said, her voice calm and soothing. "It's just that Plankton isn't much... physical affection from anyone but me. And even then, it's on his terms." Hanna's expression softened, starting to reach out to gently touch Plankton's arm. "Don't," Karen said, placing a hand over hers to stop her. Hanna's hand hovered in mid-air, and she looked at Karen with confusion. Karen took a deep breath. "Plankton needs his space to recharge. And when it comes to physical touch, it's something that's... it's not something he's comfortable with, from just anyone." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "But, you?" "We've found a balance that works for us. But it's something that took time to figure out. And even then, there are days when he needs more space than usual." Hanna nodded. "But he didn't say anything," she murmured. "I didn't know." "It's not something he talks about. He tries to be strong, to handle it, but sometimes it's just to much for him." "Why does he not flinch if you touch him, if it's sensory?" Hanna asked. Karen sighed. "It's complicated. I've known him for a long time, and we've built a level of trust. He's comfortable with my touch. But even then, it's a balancing act of knowing when he needs more and or when he needs less." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took a step back from the bed. "I had no idea," she murmured. "How long does it take for him to..." "It varies," Karen said. "Sometimes it's just minutes, other times can be hours." "Is he going to remember us talking right now?" Hanna asked. "It's hard to say," Karen replied, her gaze still on Plankton. "When he's like this, he's kind of... in his own world. Sometimes he's aware, sometimes he's not. It's like he's not present. The best thing is to just give him space," Karen said. "Let him come out of it on his own time. Sometimes talking to him helps, but not always." Hanna nodded. "I didn't mean to... I didn't know," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I just wanted to make him feel included." Karen gave her a small, understanding smile. "It's alright, Hanna," she said. "You couldn't have known. Just remember, Plankton needs space, and for us to respect that." Hanna nodds, her gaze still on Plankton. "So, how does he act coming out of it?" "It depends," Karen said, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. "Sometimes he's a bit groggy, other times he's just... tired. And sometimes he's a bit snappy." "What will he remember?" "Probably not much," Karen said, her voice low. "When he's like this, the world kind of... washes over him. He might remember snippets, but it's all pretty fuzzy." Hanna nods. "How do I show him I care?" "Just being a friend—that means the world to him. But sometimes, the best way to show you care is to give him the space he needs." "But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him." "You're not," Karen assured her, her voice gentle. "Just be mindful of his own boundaries. Sometimes a simple 'How are you feeling?' or even showing interests in his likes, can mean more than any hug. It's a condition where the brain can't process all the information coming in from the senses at once. It's like your brain's circuits are overloaded, and you just... shut down." Hanna nodded, her gaze thoughtful as she took this in. "Is it ok if I can ask Plankton questions about it?" "Of course," Karen said, her voice gentle. "But just be mindful. He might not be up for a lot of talking, especially right now." Hanna took a deep breath and approached, her movements slow and deliberate. "Plankton?" He didn't respond, his body still taut with tension. Hanna looked to Karen for guidance, who offered a smile. "Plankton," she whispered, her voice a soft caress. "Can you hear me?" There was no response, but Karen could feel the tension in his body ease slightly. She knew he was listening, even if he couldn't bring himself to respond. "Plankton's born with a condition called sensory sensitivity," Karen began, her voice calm and measured. "It means that his brain has trouble interpreting and responding to all sensory information from his environment. It can be anything from sounds to touch." "So, like, when we were watching the movie, and I was all over the place with my feelings, that was probably a bit much for him?" "Exactly," Karen said, her voice gentle. "Everything's just... too much for him sometimes." Hanna's eyes searched Plankton's face, looking for any sign of discomfort. "But he didn't say any thing," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "He tries not to," Karen said, her eyes never leaving her husband. "He doesn't like to make a fuss. But when it gets to be too much, he just kind of... shuts down." "But how do you know when it's too much?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's subtle," Karen said, her eyes still on Plankton. "He'll get tense, his breathing will change, bad mood, his eye might glaze over a bit. And when he gets really overwhelmed, he just... withdraws." "So, I shouldn't have grabbed his hand during the movie?" she asked, her voice filled with regret. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "You didn't know. Just remember for next time." Hanna nodded. "But what if I miss the signs?" she asked, her voice filled with concern. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We're all learning. Just remember to be patient and pay attention. And if you're ever unsure, just ask." Hanna nodded, her hand now resting gently on the bed next to Plankton. "I'm sorry Plankton," she whispered. He didn't move, but Karen could see the tension in his body start to ease a bit more. She knew he heard Hanna, even if he couldn't respond. "Don't worry, Plankton," Hanna said, her voice gentle. "I'll be more careful next time. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." Karen watched as Plankton's antennae slowly twitched, his breathing evening out as he began to come back to the world around him. It's a slow process, one Karen knew well. She gave Hanna a nod, a silent thank you for her understanding. "Why don't you go grab us board games, Hanna?" Karen suggested, voice low. "Give him a few to 'wake up'." Hanna nodded, her gaze lingering on Plankton before she turned and left the room. Karen watched the door close behind her before turning her attention back to Plankton. "It's ok, Plankton," she whispered, stroking his arm. "You're safe here."

CONSOLE TONSIL iii Plankton's eye fluttered open just enough to see Karen beside him. He felt groggy and disoriented, the events of the day a distant, hazy memory. He then notices Hanna brimming with tears. He blinked slowly, trying to clear the fog. "Karen," he croaked, his voice hoarse from surgery and emotional turmoil. "Hanna?" "I'm so sorry," Hanna choked out with regret. "I didn't mean to...I didn't know." "What happened?" he rasped. Karen's gaze softens. "You had a bit of a shutdown, Plankton," she said gently. "You've had a long day, and everything just became too much." The word 'burden' echoed in Plankton's mind. "Burden?" he managed to croak. "Hanna said something she didn't mean," she began,. "She didn't understand what she was saying, but she hurt you, and she's sorry." The word 'burden' it seemed, that fear had been given a voice. He looked from Karen to Hanna. "Burden," he said, barely a whisper. "Is that what you think of me?" Hanna looked stricken. "No, Plankton, I just..." Her voice trailed off. He had always known that he was different, that his size and his quirks set him apart from others. "It's ok," Karen said, her voice soothing. "We all have moments where we say things without thinking. But what's important is that you know you're not a burden to me, Plankton. You never have been, and never will be." Plankton's word 'burden' ringing. "Hanna didn't mean it, she just didn't understand." But the word had already taken root in Plankton's mind. Burden. The word resonated through Plankton but to be called a burden was something else entirely. "Plankton, I'm sorry," she said again, "I didn't know." But Plankton could only repeat the word. "Burden," he croaked. Karen reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "No, Plankton, you're not a burden," she said, her voice steady and firm. "You're loved and valued, just the way you are." "Burden," he murmured agai. "I'm a burden." "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle reprimand. "You are not a burden." But Plankton's eye remained fixed, voice a hollow echo. "Everything I do is a burden," he murmured. Karen squeezed his shoulder. "Plankton, please, don't say that." "Burden," Plankton whispered, voice barely a breath. Karen's heart broke at the sound of his self-loathing. "Plankton, you're not a burden," she insisted, her voice filled with compassion. "Am a burden," he repeated, the word sticking to his tongue like a sour candy. "What can I do?" Hanna asked, desperation seeping. "Listen," Karen said, turning to face her. "You need to understand that Plankton isn't just being dramatic. This isn't something you can just apologize for and expect him to get over. His brain works differently. He processes stress in a way that's unique to him. And when you said that..." Her voice trailed off, unable to find the right words to express the gravity of the situation. "I'm a burden," Plankton murmured. "You're not a burden, Plankton," she said, her voice a soft, steady rhythm. "You're my friend, and I care about you." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a quiet rebuttal. He was stuck in a loop of pain and she wasn't sure how to pull him out. "Plankton, you're not," she began, but he cut her off. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain. "Plankton," Karen said, her voice a gentle plea. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton replied, his voice a soft echo of despair, "is a burden." Karen tries to find the right words to cut through the fog of his pain. "Plankton," she said firmly, "you are not a burden. You're my husband, and my confidant." "But a burden," Plankton whispered, voice trembling. "I am burden." "Plankton, please," she said. "You're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a stubborn echo. "Everything I do is a burden." "No, Plankton," Karen insisted, her tone firm but filled with care. "You're not a burden. You're an essential part of this home." But the word 'burden' a heavy weight on his soul. "I'm not a burden," he murmured, the words barely a breath. "I'm not." "Right, you are not," Karen said. "You're so much more.." "Burden," his voice a quiet protest. "I'm just a burden." "You're not a burden," she said. "You're a companion, and a vital part of our lives." "But, burden," Plankton whimpered, his voice a sad refrain. "I is burden." Karen took his hand. "You are not," she said, her voice a gentle but firm declaration. "You're a unique and wonderful being, Plankton." "Plankton, burden," Plankton repeated, his voice a whisper of doubt. "I, burden." "Plankton," she said. "You are not a burden. You're a brilliant mind, and family." Plankton's word 'burden' still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. "But, Karen," he whispered, "I am burden." "No," Karen said firmly, voice unyielding. "You are not. You are treasure, a light in this world." Plankton blinked slowly, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a mournful chant. "But I burden," he protested, his voice barely above a whisper. "Burdens, Plankton." "You are loved." "Karen," Plankton said, his voice shaking with emotion, "I burden." Karen leaned closer. "Plankton," she said softly, "you're not a burden. You're someone who brings joy and laughter into our lives." Plankton's gaze searched hers, the word 'burden' still clinging to his every thought. "But I burden," he murmured, his voice a sad echo. "You're a part of this home, a piece of our lives." But Plankton's mind was a tumultuous sea, the word 'burden' a stormy island he couldn't escape. "Burden," he said again, his voice a sad admission. Karen's looking for a way to bridge the gap between his pain and the truth. "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle reminder, "you're not a burden." "Burden," Plankton whispered, the word a sad acceptance in his mind. "I burden." "Plankton," she began, but he talked over her. "Burden," Plankton said, his voice a sad refrain. "Everything I do, burden." "Plankton," she said, her voice a gentle but firm counterpoint. "Burden," Plankton murmured, his voice a quiet echo of despair. "Everything I do, a burden." Karen felt the urgency to reach him, to pull him out of the dark pit of his thoughts. "Plankton, you're not a burden." Plankton's eye remained unfocused, his voice a sad refrain. "Burden," he whispered, the word a painful acceptance. "Everything I do, I burden." "You're not a burden." "But, Karen," Plankton murmured, his voice a sad refrain, "everything I do is burden." Karen's looking for any sign of the vibrant spirit she knew was there. But Plankton's gaze remained vacant, the word 'burden' echoing in his mind like a funeral bell. Karen knew she had to do something, had to find a way to break through the barrier that had been so carelessly built. She took a deep breath, reaching for the one thing she knew could always lift his spirits. "Remember the time we built that sandcastle?" she asked, her voice filled with the warmth of nostalgia. "The one with the moat that kept filling up with jellyfish?" Plankton's eye flickered with the ghost of a smile. "Jellyfish," a soft echo of a happier time. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle nudge. "Remember how we laughed when they kept popping the bubbles in the moat?" A flicker of life returned to Plankton's eye. "Burden, Bubbles," he murmured. Karen clung to the glimmer of hope. "And the karaoke nights? When you sang that sea shanty about the Krabby Patty?" "Krabby Patty," the words a soft echo of happier times. Karen's seeing the first crack in the wall of pain he had built around himself. She took his hand, voice filled with warmth. "Remember pranks we’d play on SpongeBob?" Plankton's gaze flickered with a glimmer of amusement. "Jellyfish," he murmured. Encouraged, Karen pressed on. "And the time we accidentally turned the restaurant into a bubble bath?" "Bubble bath," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of the laughter they had shared. "Yes," Karen said, her voice a gentle caress. "Remember how Mr. Krabs had to wear those ridiculous floaties because he couldn't swim in the bubbles?" Plankton's smile grew. "Floaties," he murmured, a hint of laughter in his voice. Karen squeezed his hand. "See, Plankton. You're not a burden. You're a partner in crime, and the best roommate I could ask for." The room remained still, the only sound the steady beat of Plankton's heart. Then, ever so slowly, his smile grew, pushing back the shadows in his mind. "Karen," he murmured, his voice a soft echo of gratitude. "Thank you." Hanna's pixel eyes widened with hope, the guilt still etched on her face. "Plankton," she said, her voice tentative. "I'm so sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. You're not a burden. You're...you're like family to us." Plankton's gaze shifted to her, the weight of her words a gentle nudge towards healing. "Family," he murmured, the word a tentative bridge over the chasm of his doubt. "Yes," Hanna said, her voice earnest. "I'm sorry for not understanding before. But I do now. And I'll do better." "You will?" he asked, a tentative thread of hope. "Yes," Hanna said with earnestness. "I'll learn, listen, and I'll be more considerate of how my words can affect." Karen nodded in approval, her grip on Plankton's hand tightening slightly. "That's all we can ask," she said, her tone a gentle reprimand. "For you to understand and do better." Hanna's pixel eyes well up with tears. "I'm so sorry, Plankton," she said, voice shaking. "I had no idea." Plankton's gaze softened, the word 'burden' slowly losing grip. Karen released a sigh of relief, tension in the room easing. "What's important," she said, her voice a gentle guide, "is that we all understand each other better now." Hanna nodded with remorse. "I'll do anything to make it right," she said, a solemn vow. Plankton looked from Karen to Hanna, the word 'burden' losing power. "Ok," he murmured. "I forgive."

NEW REALITY i (Autistic author) "You never listen to me, Karen," Plankton groused. "It's a new analyzer I just built! It'll reveal the contents of a patty when I put one in!" Karen, ever the skeptical wife, rolled her eyes. "You mean IF you put one in.." Plankton ignored her sarcasm, but with a deafening pop, the analyzer exploded, sending shards of metal flying in all directions. One of these sharp pieces slammed into Plankton's head, causing him to stumble back. Karen rushed to his side, pushing aside her initial irritation. Plankton's eye rolled back and closed as he crumpled to the floor. "Plankton! Plankton!" Karen's voice grew frantic as she cradled his tiny, limp body. The analyzer's explosion had caused more damage than she could have ever imagined, the injury had rewired his currently unconscious brain irreversibly: autism. Karen carries him to their bedroom, tucking him in his bed. "Plankton," she whispers, brushing his antennae, "Please wake up." But Plankton remains still. Karen sits by the bedside, her eyes never leaving his face. "I'll always be here," she murmurs, squeezing his hand. The quiet hum of their tiny underwater apartment is broken only by the rhythmic pulse of his breathing. Karen starts to think. If only she had taken his inventions more seriously, maybe this accident could have been avoided? She looks at the clock. It's midnight now. The hours tick by, each one lonelier than the last. Karen's thoughts are a tangled web of regrets and fears. What if Plankton never wakes up? Karen can't help but feel like a prisoner to her own guilt. She wonders what their life would be like now. Would Plankton be different? Would he still be the same eccentric genius, or would the injury change him completely? Will he remember her? The sun's first light filters through their bedroom window, casting a warm glow on Plankton's face. Karen's eyes snap open, having dozed off from exhaustion. She sees him stir, his eyelid fluttering. He groans, his eye opening slowly. Karen's heart races. He's alive! "K-Karen," he stammers, confused as to how he ended up in their room. The initial relief is quickly replaced with a knot in her stomach. His speech is stilted, his movements jerky. He tries to sit up, but the effort seems to overwhelm him. Karen reaches out to help, but he flinches at her touch. She notices his eye scanning the room with an intensity she's never seen before, as if he's trying to make sense of everything around him. "Plankton, it's okay," she says soothingly, trying not to let her anxiety seep into her voice. He turns to her, his gaze unfocused. "Karen?" he repeats, this time with more urgency. "What... what happened?" Her heart squeezes tight. "You had an accident with the new analyzer," she explains gently, keeping her voice calm. "It... it exploded and hit you.." Plankton looks around, his eye darting from object to object. "It's okay," Karen says, desperately trying to hold back the tears. "You're just a bit dizzy." But Plankton doesn't seem to be listening. He's too busy inspecting his surroundings, his eye darting around the room in a way that makes Karen feel like she's missing something. "Plankton, do you understand me?" Karen asks, her voice trembling slightly. He nods, but there's a distant look in his eye that makes her stomach drop. The way he's acting, it's like he's seeing their bedroom for the first time, like every detail is both fascinating and overwhelming. Plankton tries to get out of bed, but his legs wobble like jelly. Karen jumps up to support him, her arms wrapping around his thin frame. "Let's go slow," she suggests, guiding him back to the pillows. He simply nods. "Do you remember me?" Karen asks, desperation tinging her voice. His eye focus on her for a moment, then drift away again. "Yes," he says, but it's more of a question than an affirmation. "Karen, wife," he adds, his voice flat and devoid of the usual warmth and sarcasm. The words hang in the air like a lead weight, heavy with implications. Karen swallows the lump in her throat. "You're okay," she insists, as Plankton nods, looking around their bedroom when his gaze lands on the ceiling fan. His eye lights up, focusing intently on it. "Fan," he murmurs, as if discovering the concept for the first time. "Spinning. Round and round." Karen's heart sinks. "Plankton," she begins, her voice cracking, "You're acting different." She doesn't know how to explain what she's seeing, but she's scared of what it might mean. His eye doesn't quite meet hers, and his speech is so... mechanical. "Different?" he echoes, his voice a monotone. "No, the same Plankton." But the way he says it, like he's trying to convince himself, sends a chill down Karen's spine. She tries to shake off the fear, telling herself he's just groggy from the hit. But deep down, she knows it's more than that.

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 13 (Autistic author) Plankton's antennae twitch slightly in her direction, his eye not quite focusing on her. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still flat. Sandy nods, her own heart racing. She's seen his fiery spirit, his sharp mind, but this Plankton is a puzzle of patterns and sensitivity. She takes a deep breath, trying to mirror Karen's calm. "Hi, Plankton," she says slowly, her voice a gentle wave lapping at the shore. He looks at her, his antennae twitching slightly. "Sandy," he murmurs, his voice still devoid of its usual inflection. Sandy's eyes well up with tears. "Hey buddy," she says, her voice a gentle ripple in the calm waters of his room. "How are you feeling?" Plankton's antennae twitch slightly, as if trying to interpret the meaning behind her words. His eye blinks, focusing on her face. "Okay," he says, his voice a monotone as he sits up. Sandy nods, her heart aching. "Do you remember earlier today when you threw the tantrum?" Plankton's antennae wave erratically, his eye widening. "No," he says, his voice strained. "But now, Plankton feels... angry." The room seems to shrink around him as his frustration boils over. Sandy doesn't realize. "You're not gonna throw another tantrum, are you?" With a sudden burst of energy, he leaps to his feet, his voice a guttural howl. "No, no, no!" Sandy's eyes widen in shock. "Plankton wh..." But she's cut off by his verbal tsunami, a rage-filled torrent of words she's never heard from him before. "No, Sandy, NOT AGAIN!" he yells. "IT'S NOT A TANTRUM!" The room seems to shiver with the force of his voice, and Sandy's eyes widen in shock, her paws trembling. "I'm sorry, Plankton," she stammers, her voice quavering. "I didn't mean..." But he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's not a game, Sandy! It's not for fun!" The room seems to shrink around him, his words a storm raging in the quiet sanctity of his bedroom. Sandy flinches back, her eyes wide with shock and fear. "Sandy not understand!" Plankton screams, his small body shaking with the intensity of his frustration. "And not about the Krabby Patty formula anymore! SANDY, STOP!" Sandy's eyes widen in fear, her heart racing. This isn't the Plankton she knows. His rage is uncontrolled, his voice a knife cutting through the calm. "Plankton, please," she whispers, her voice trembling. "I just...I want to understand." But Plankton is beyond reason, his eye wild with frustration. "It's not a tantrum!" he screams, his antennae quivering with rage. Karen moves quickly, placing herself between Plankton and Sandy, her body a shield. "Plankton," she says, her voice a gentle breeze against the storm of his rage. "You're upset. It's okay." Sandy sighs. "Is he gonna throw another..." "NO!" Plankton shouts, his voice like thunder in the small space. "It's not a tantrum!" Karen's eyes are filled with a mix of fear and determination as she intervenes. "Plankton," she says, her voice a soothing balm, cutting through the storm of his anger. "You're upset, and that's okay. But please, let's talk about it calmly." Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye flickering between Karen and Sandy. His chest heaves with the effort to contain his rage, his body a coiled spring ready to snap. Karen's voice remains steady, a lighthouse in his chaotic sea. "Let's talk about it," she repeats, her tone soothing. Plankton's body relaxes slightly, his antennae still twitching with residual anger. "It's not a tantrum," he says, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's...overwhelming." Karen nods, her eyes never leaving his. "I know, sweetheart," she says, her voice a gentle caress. "Let's talk about it." Sandy watches from the sidelines, her heart still racing. She's seen Plankton's fiery spirit, his sharp intellect, but this new side of him is frightening. "But..." "It's his autism," Karen explains gently, her hand on his shoulder. "He can't always handle the world's chaos. And I understand you meant to see if he's okay..." "NOT A TANTRUM! NO MORE, ENOUGH SANDY!" Plankton snaps. "I'm just telling her not to say it. What other wording can we use instead, Plankton?" Karen rubs his arm. Plankton's antennae quiver, his eye searching his brain for a solution. "Shutdown," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. "Spasm's, Pauses. Moment or mishap. Yes, yes." Sandy nods, her expression a mix of understanding and concern. "I'll remember that," she says, her voice soft. "I'm sorry, Plankton. I didn't mean to upset you." Plankton's antennae slowing. "I'm sorry Plankton," he mumbles, his voice exhausted. Karen nods, her screen filled with love. "It's okay, love," she says, helping him sit back down. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his body still trembling with the aftershocks of his outburst. Sandy watches him, her eyes wide with understanding. "I'm sorry," she whispers, her heart heavy with regret. Plankton's antennae quiver slightly. "Well, I best be going," Sandy says.

** ᴵ ᵃᵐ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵗⁱᶜ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᴬᵘᵗⁱˢᵐ ᵘˢⁱⁿᵍ ᴬᴵ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐʸ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ * One fateful afternoon, Plankton meandered along the beach, lost in thought, an unexpected event unfolded. A tennis match, played by tourists near by, sent stray balls hurtling towards him. A tennis ball struck him squarely on the head. As he stumbled to his feet, dizzy and disoriented, the world around him had changed. Plankton found himself struggling with simple tasks that once came so naturally. His job at the local bait shop grew increasingly difficult as he often forgot names. His social interactions grew strained, as he found it hard to read the subtle cues of conversation and often took things too literally. The doctor's diagnosis was clear: the impact had left him with a mild form of autism for life. Karen, ever the rock in their marriage, took the news with a mix of shock and determination. She knew this would be a journey of adaptation for both of them. She dedicated herself to helping Plankton navigate the new landscape of his reality. His mind, now more analytical and detail-oriented, sought patterns and understanding in the overwhelming information. It was as if he had developed an insatiable hunger for knowledge, and this soon dominated their dinner conversations. "Karen," he began, "I've been thinking about the diagnosis." They were at the kitchen table. She looked up from her plate. "We can just keep this between us, Sheldon." "Karen," Plankton insisted, "I think we need to consider what this means for the Chum Bucket." "The Chum Bucket will be fine. You're still you. Just with a different way of seeing the world. You're seeing patterns no one else does. Let's focus on how we can harness that instead of worrying about what you lost." The idea took root in Plankton's mind, growing into a newfound sense of purpose. If he couldn't outsmart Krabs in their usual cat-and-mouse game, perhaps he could out-pattern him. His mind raced with the possibilities, the wheels of his imagination spinning faster than ever before. "If I could see patterns where he doesn't, we could finally steal the Krabby Patty secret!" He began to fidget in his chair, his legs bouncing up and down, a silent metronome to his racing thought. "But what if Krabs finds out? You know how he is, Karen. If he gets even the slightest whiff of weakness, he'll be on us." Karen nodded solemnly. "But you're not weak, Plankton. You're just... different. And if he does we'll deal with it together like everything else." Her words resonated with him and a newfound resolve shone in his eye. "You're right," he murmured. "We'll turn this into an advantage." Plankton retreated to his lab, the cobwebs of doubt slowly giving way to a tangible plan. He pored over blueprints and formulae, his mind racing with thoughts with his newfound focus, a stark contrast to the days when he had flitted from one idea to the next without clear direction. He dissected every encounter with Krabs, searching for patterns in his rival's behavior. His mind was a whirlwind of calculations, predicting Krabs' every move, anticipating his countermoves, and preparing for the ultimate heist. His once cluttered lab now had a method to its madness. The floor was clear of scattered inventions, and his desk was organized into neat piles of notes. His thoughts were no longer scattered; they were sharp. Karen supported him, bringing him snacks and encouraging him to take breaks, for she knew that his mind was fully consumed by his mission. The day finally came when Plankton announced that he was ready to put his new skills to the test. "Karen," he said with a steely glint in his eye, "I'm going to the Krusty Krab." "But Plankton, You haven't been since before..." "It's time. I've figured out a pattern in Krabs' security. There's a blindspot during the lunch rush." Plankton set out. The restaurant bustled with the usual sea of patrons, a cacophony of noise that Plankton found both overwhelming and fascinating. He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand, and slipped inside. Making his way to the back, he spotted the safe in Krabs' office. His new analytical mind dissected the room with ease, noting the routine of the employees, the subtle cues in their movements that pointed to the flow of customers, and the exact moment when the chaos of the lunch rush would hit its peak. Timing was everything, and Plankton knew the moment had arrived. He slipped into the office. The combination lock stared back at him, a silent sentinel to the secret he sought. His mind raced through the patterns he had observed in Krabs' behavior, the way he tapped his claw against the desk when nervous, the time he took to drink his tea, the exact moment when his gaze would flick to the safe when the topic of the Krabby Patty formula came up. Plankton took a deep breath, his eye tracing the dial as he dialed in the sequence. The clicks of the tumblers falling into place were the sweetest symphony he had ever heard. With trembling hands, he pulled the heavy door open, revealing the treasure trove with in. His eye fell upon the secret bottle, its contents a murky mystery that could change his life forever. His heart thudded in his chest, a drum roll to the crescendo of his plan. "Plankton!" boomed a voice. He whirled around to find Mr. Krabs, claws balled into fists. The room spun, and the noises of the restaurant outside grew distant. "What do you think you're doing?" Krabs demanded, his eyes bulging with rage. Plankton's brain scrambled for a lie, but his newfound honesty and directness took over. "I've come for the Krabby Patty secret." Mr. Krabs sneered, "You're insane, Plankton. You'll never understand the brilliance of me creation." "But I see patterns now, where I used to see only chaos.." Plankton trails off before he could reveal more. Mr. Krabs took a step closer. "What are you talking about? Patterns? I don't know what you're blabbering on about, but you're not leaving here with that!" He lunged, but Plankton was ready. Using his heightened senses and the patterns he had studied, Plankton sidestepped the attack with surprising grace. The Krabby Patty secret was in his grasp, but he knew to take it back to the Chum Bucket. He sprinted out of the office. The din of the restaurant faded into the background as he weaved through the kitchen, dodging flying spatulas and the frenetic dance of the cooks. The heat from the grills washed over him but he didn't flinch. His eye remained locked on the swinging doors to the alley outside. Karen was waiting for him. Without a word, she opened the hidden hatch that led back to the Chum Bucket. Plankton squeezed through, the warmth of the stolen secret a comforting weight. They descended into the dimly lit lab. Karen looked at him with a mix of amazement and pride. "You did it," she whispered. Plankton's chest heaved with the exertion of his escape. "Yes," he panted, "but Krabs knows I have it." Plankton carefully removed the paper from the bottle, his eye scanning the list. The words and numbers swam but he focused, his mind slicing through the jumble. The list was not in English, but a cryptic code that only Krabs could decipher. The symbols and letters danced in a maddening ballet, but he could feel the tide of understanding beginning to turn. His mind raced, piecing together the puzzle with a speed and precision that astonished even him. He turned to Karen. "It's a code based on the Fibonacci sequence!" "Fibonacci?" Plankton nodded fervently, his antennae waving with excitement. "It's a numerical sequence, Karen. One, one, two, three, five, eight... It appears in nature, in the spiral of a shell, the arrangement of leaves on a stem, the branching of trees. It's a pattern that's been used in everything from art to mathematics!" Karen's trying to make sense of the seemingly random strings of digits and letters. "But how? Nevermind, I hear Krabs breaking in!" Plankton began to recite the ingredients in their proper order, translating the code as he went. "Kelp powder, four... Tartar sauce, one... Mustard seeds, three... Onion powder, five!" The lab door crashed open and Mr. Krabs' furious red face filled the doorway. "Give it back, you tiny menace!" But Plankton was already several steps ahead. With lightning-quick reflexes, he transferred the information from the paper to his photographic memory, his mind now a fortress that contained the Krabby Patty's sacred recipe. Krabs snatched the paper with a snarl, his claw closing around it like a vice. He glared at Plankton, eyes alight with fury. "You think you're so clever don't you?" But Plankton remained silent. The code was in his mind now and no one could take that from him. He had outsmarted Krabs with his own patterns, using the very neurodivergence that had made him feel weak to gain the upper hand. Mr. Krabs looked from the paper to Plankton and back again with suspicion, his claw tightening around the seemingly worthless paper. "You think you've won?" he spat. "You'll never understand the genius behind me Krabby Patties!" With that, Mr. Krabs stormed out of the Chum Bucket with his usual sneer, the worthless paper clutched in his claw. Plankton watched him go, his heart racing. He had done it. He had bested Krabs. As the echo of the slammed door faded away, he turned to Karen, his eye alight with victory. "We've got it," he whispered, his voice quivering with excitement. "The Krabby Patty secret is ours."

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⢿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠽⣽⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⢿⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⣿⣿⣷⠶⠖⠿⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣽⣽⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢃⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢽⠿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠁⠀⠀⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡿⠞⠛⠛⠿⣾⠿⣟⢏⣇⣢⣿⣯⠀⠀⠀⣀⠤⠒⠢⡔⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣛⣦⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣾⣿⣯⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⢱⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡛⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣦⣄⣀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠄⠐⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⠖⠢⡀⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠙⢿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠐⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⢢⠀⠙⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡀⠀⠂⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⡄⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡼⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣄⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢀⡞⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠀⡠⠖⢁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠴⠾⠿⠿⣿⠀⠀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆༝༚༝༚⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

(Autistic author) Plankton has autism, which only he and Karen know about. They're able to keep it a secret, per Plankton's request, even from their son Chip. So when Chip comes home early from football, he's surprised to see his dad staring at the blank wall as his mom rubs his back. "Is everything okay?" he asks, stepping into the room. Plankton's eye is unfocused, his body rigid, like he's stuck in some invisible vice. Karen's hand pauses on his shoulder, and she turns to face Chip, her smile forced. "Yeah, just a little...spell," she says. Plankton's absence seizure has struck without warning. It's like a silent storm passing through the room, leaving no trace except the vacant look in his eye. The room seems to shrink around them as Chip takes in his dad's unblinking stare. He's never seen this. "Should I get help?" Chip's voice cracks. Karen shakes her head quickly, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. "No, it's fine. Just...give us a minute." She waves a hand, trying to dismiss the concern that has etched itself on Chip's features. But Chip lingers, his gaze flickering between his parents. "What's happening?" he whispers. Karen sighs, her hand dropping to her side. She looks at Plankton. "It's just something your dad has," she says, choosing her words carefully. "It's like his brain goes on pause for a bit." Chip watches as his dad's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, the only indication that he's still present in the physical world. "But what do you mean?" his eyes search hers for understanding. Karen's eyes flit to Plankton before returning to Chip's. She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. "It's not dangerous, just a little scary-looking." The silence stretches until it feels like a rubber band about to snap. Chip's curiosity overpowers his fear. He takes a tentative step closer. "Does he know we're here?" Chip whispers. "Not really," Karen murmurs, "But he'll come back to us." Chip reaches out, a tremor in his fingertips, and touches Plankton's arm, but the seizure doesn't seem to notice. "Dad?" Chip whispers, his voice a soft echo in the stillness. Plankton's body remains stiff as a statue, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere beyond the wallpaper's pattern. Karen's hand moves to cover Chip's, her touch warm and reassuring. "It's okay," she whispers back, "It's part of him. Don't poke or shake him, just let it pass." The seconds tick by, each one feeling heavier than the last. Chip's heart thuds in his chest, his mind racing with questions and fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so...so vulnerable. As the seizure slowly releases its grip, Plankton blinks, his eye refocusing on the room. He looks confused, like he's waking from a deep sleep. Karen's smile relaxes, the tension in her shoulders easing. Plankton turns to her, his gaze flickering with recognition before falling on Chip. "Chip?" His voice is raspy. Karen nods at Chip, silently urging him to speak. "Yeah, Dad, it's me." Plankton's expression shifts. "What...what happened?" his voice is frail. Chip opens his mouth, but Karen steps in quickly. "You had a little moment, that's all. Nothing to worry about," she says, her tone light. But her hand is still on Plankton's back, ready to provide support if needed. Plankton's eye darts around, his hands clenching and unclenching as if trying to remember how to interact with the world again. He notices Chip's hand reaching out and flinches slightly, his discomfort with physical contact clear. Chip, sensing this, pulls his hand back, his cheeks flushing. He's always known his dad was a bit...different. Quirky. But he's never seen this side of him. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing as she squeezes Plankton's hand. "You're okay." Plankton nods, his mind slowly untangling from the cotton wool fog of the seizure. He looks around the room, familiar objects snapping back into focus. His eye lands on Chip, who's watching him with a mix of worry and curiosity. He clears his throat. "Just a...moment. I'm fine now." He tries to smile, but it feels awkward and forced. Chip's eyes don't leave him. "What was that?" he asks, his voice still low. Karen looks at Plankton. It's time. "Your dad has something called autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain works in a special way." Chip's eyes widen. "What does that mean?" Karen sits down beside Plankton, who's still gathering himself. "It's like...sometimes, his brain takes a little break from the world," she explains gently, her hand still on his shoulder. "It can be overwhelming, with all the sounds, sights, and people around." Chip nods slowly, trying to grasp the concept. Plankton swallows hard, his mind racing. He's always been so careful to hide this part of himself, not wanting to be seen as less than or weird. But as he looks at Chip, his heart swells with a mix of fear and hope. What if his son can't understand? What if this changes everything? Karen gives him a nod, encouraging him to go on. With a deep breath, Plankton starts to speak. "You know how sometimes you get really focused on something and the world just fades away?" Chip nods. "Well, for me, it's like that," Plankton says, his voice steadying. "But sometimes, my brain does it without me asking. It's like my thoughts are a TV with too many channels playing at once, and it just...shuts off for a bit to give me a break." Chip nods, trying to imagine what that's like. "Does it hurt?" Plankton shakes his head. "Well, it's just...different. Sometimes I don't realize, sometimes it's tough." Chip looks up at him, his eyes full of questions and a nascent empathy. "Can you control..." "No Chip, I can't 'control' it!" He snaps back. "Hey hey, it's okay," Karen whispers, meeting his gaze. "He's not judging you, Plankton." Plankton takes a deep breath, his eye fluttering shut. "I know," he murmurs, but his tone is anything but convinced. Chip's gaze softens, his fear replaced with a determined curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice gentle. Plankton's shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. "It's like being in a little bubble," he says, his eye distant. "Everything's far away, muffled. And when it's over, it's like...like popping back into reality." Chip's curiosity grows, his mind racing with questions. "But why do you keep it a secret?" he asks, his voice tentative. Karen looks to Plankton, who's still visibly shaken. "We didn't want it to define you," she says softly. "We wanted you to see him as just your dad, not as someone with a label." Plankton nods. "And I didn't want to be different," he adds, his voice barely above a whisper. Chip considers this, his gaze flitting from his dad to the ground. "But you are," he says, his voice earnest. "You're my dad, even with your..." He stumbles over the word "...seizures." Karen's eyes fill with pride at her son's acceptance. Plankton's tension how ever, heightens at Chip's description. "It's not a seizure," he corrects, his voice slightly defensive. Chip looks confused. "But it looks like it," he says, frowning. Karen nods. "It's similar, but not the same," she explains before Plankton can interject. "It's part of your dad's autism." Chip looks at Plankton, his eyes searching for something he's never noticed before. "But why did you keep it a secret?" he asks again. Plankton's gaze drifts to the floor, his voice soft. "Because people can be cruel, son," he says, his words heavy. "They don't always understand." Chip nods, his eyes welling up with tears. "But I do," he says, his voice shaking. "I mean, I don't get it all, but I understand that you're still you." Plankton's expression softens, his fear of rejection dissipating slightly. He looks up at Karen, his gaze filled with gratitude. She gives him a small smile, her eyes telling him it's okay to be his true self.

CONSOLE TONSIL ii * As the door clicked shut, Karen noticed how Plankton's body stiffened, eye open but unseeing. "Plankton?" she called out, her voice a gentle prodding into his absent-mindedness. He didn't respond. His eye remained open, but it was as if the light behind it had gone out. This wasn’t the first time Karen had seen him dizzily scatterbrained from overload, yet it was eerie to witness such shock. His body remained still, his chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths, yet there was no response to her touch or voice. It was like he was there, but not there at the same time. The room grew quiet. She leaned closer. "Plankton, can you hear me?" she whispered. His eye remained unblinking. "Plankton, talk to me," Karen urged, her voice a gentle coax. His only ‘response’ was the shallow rise and fall of his chest, his eye unblinking. Karen realized the depth of his withdrawal; Hanna's words had triggered a sensory shutdown. The room grew colder as Plankton retreated into himself, his eye glazed over like a still pond reflecting the fear and confusion rippling through him. Karen knew she needed to tread lightly. She had seen this before, during moments of intense stress or overstimulation. "Plankton," she said, her voice a soft whisper. "You're not a burden, you know that." Her hand reached out, stroking his arm in gentle, soothing motions. "You're just tired. Let's focus on getting you better." The room was still, the only sound being the tick of the clock echoing through the silence. Karen's screen never left Plankton's unresponsive face, her mind racing to find the right words, the right touch to pull him back from the edge of his isolation. "Plankton," she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're ok. You're home." Her hand continued its soft, rhythmic motion on his arm, a silent lullaby to his fractured thoughts. Slowly, as if waking from a deep sleep, Plankton's eye blinked. The fog in his gaze started to clear, his pupil focusing on Karen's concerned face. He took a deep, shaky breath, wincing as the pain in his throat shot up like a warning flare. "You're ok," Karen repeated, her voice a soothing balm to his frazzled nerves. "You're home, and I'm here with you." Plankton's breathing grew more even, the tension in his body slowly seeping away as he focused on her voice, her touch. The pain in his throat was a constant reminder of the surgery, but it was the emotional pain that weighed heavier on him. Karen waited patiently, her hand never stopping its gentle caress, her voice a steady stream of comfort. "You're not a burden," she repeated, her tone soothing. "You're my best friend, Plankton. We’re home. I'm here for you, always." Plankton blinked again, the reality of his situation seeping in. "Home," he murmured. "Thank you, Karen." "You're welcome. I'm here for you." The words hung in the air, the silence thick and heavy. Karen could see the internal battle playing out on Plankton's face, the war between his pride and his need for comfort. His hand reached out again, this time with more intention, and he gently squeezed hers. "I'm sorry," he croaked out, his voice still raw. "I didn't mean to scare you." Karen leaned in closer, her screen filled with a gentle understanding. "You don't ever have to apologize for how you feel," she said softly. "We're in this together." Plankton's grip tightened, his eye finally focusing on hers with a hint of gratitude. He took another deep breath, the pain a stark contrast to the warmth in the room. "What...what is Hanna doing now?" he asked, his voice a whisper of curiosity. "I don't know," Karen replied truthfully. "But she's not here to bother us. You need to rest, ok?" Plankton nodded weakly, his grip loosening. Karen felt a twinge of sadness as she saw the exhaustion etched on his features. She knew he was trying to be strong, but the weight of the day's events was too much for anyone to bear alone. "Rest," she encouraged, her voice firm but gentle. "I'll be right here if you need anything." Plankton's nod was almost imperceptible, but Karen took it as his silent agreement. She pulled the blanket up to his chin, tucking him in as if he were a child, and sat in the chair beside his bed, her hand still in his. The warmth of their intertwined fingers was a small but significant comfort in the face of his overwhelming fears. The minutes ticked by. Karen watched him closely, waiting for his breathing to deepen, his eyelid to droop. It was a slow process, but eventually, the exhaustion won. She heard a faint snore, a sign that he had finally succumbed to sleep. His hand went slack in hers, and she carefully extracted her hand, placing it on the bedside table. She took a deep breath, her shoulders sagging with relief. Her mind raced with what had happened. Hanna's words had clearly struck a nerve, and she couldn’t help but feel a surge of anger at her friend's thoughtlessness. Plankton had always been self-conscious about his size and his perceived weaknesses, and to hear such harsh words from someone Karen cared about had to be devastating. Karen felt a mix of anger and sadness as she approached Hanna, her mind playing back the haunting image of Plankton's lifeless stare. "Hanna," she began, her voice firm but measured. "We need to talk." Hanna looked up. "What you said in front of Plankton, though not meant to be malicious," Karen began, her voice low but steady. "It was hurtful and unnecessary. Plankton has...challenges. Neurodivergent challenges." Hanna's confused. "What do you mean?" "It means," Karen said, sitting down next to her, "that Plankton perceives and reacts to the world differently than we do. It affects how he processes information, how he interacts with people, and how he handles stress." "What happened after I left?" Hanna finally asked, her voice tentative. Karen took a deep breath, preparing to recount the events that had unfolded. "He had a...a reaction," she said. "He couldn't handle the stress anymore. His mind just sort of...shut down. He just...froze still. It's like his body was there, but he wasn't. He didn’t respond to anything I said or did." Hanna's hand flew to her mouth, horrified. "His eye were open, but he was...gone, somewhere else. I've seen it before, but never this severe. At first, nothing," Karen said, her gaze drifting to the floor. "It was like talking to a statue. But I didn't give up. I talked to him, whispered really. I tried to get through to him, to tell him he's not a burden, that he's important to me, that he's safe here. Just kept saying how much he means to me and that he's not a burden. He started to come back to me, little by little. His breathing changed, his gaze focused on me. It was like he was hearing me for the first time in hours." Karen paused, collecting her thoughts. "He apologized," she said. "For scaring me. As if it was his fault." Hanna's expression grew pained. "I never meant for this to happen," she murmured. "What can I do to make it right?" Karen considered her words carefully. "For now, let him rest," she said. "But when he's feeling better, we need to have a talk. All of us. Plankton deserves an apology." * * ᴬˢ ᵃ ⁿᵉᵘʳᵒᵈⁱᵛᵉʳᵍᵉⁿᵗ ʷʳⁱᵗᵉʳ ᴵ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒᵗ ᵐᵉᵃⁿ ᵗᵒ ˢᵗⁱᵍᵐᵃᵗⁱᶻᵉ ᵃⁿʸ ᵗʸᵖᵉ ᵒᶠ ᵈⁱˢᵃᵇⁱˡⁱᵗʸ ⁿᵒʳ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵘⁿⁱᵗʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ‧ ᔆᵒᵐᵉᵗⁱᵐᵉˢ⸴ ᴵ ᵘˢᵉ ᵃⁿ ᴬᴵ ᵍᵉⁿᵉʳᵃᵗᵒʳ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʷᵉᵃᵏ ᵗʰᵉ ʷʳⁱᵗⁱⁿᵍ *

KAREN HAS A LESSON pt. 15 (Autistic author) Hanna's screen filled with a mix of shock and empathy. "I had no idea," she says, her voice a whisper. "How can I help?" Plankton's antennae twitch, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Oh, it's simple," he says, his tone biting. "Just don't make jokes about Karen or brain damage!" Hanna's screen burn with embarrassment, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know," she whispers, her hands trembling. Plankton's eye is still glaring. "It's not to hard to understand," he says, his voice a knife. "If Hanna just took the time to learn." Hanna nods, her screen a mask of regret. "What do you need?" Plankton's antennae slow, his eye focusing on Karen's worried screen. He takes a deep breath, his words coming out slowly, as if each one was a step through a difficult maze. "Quiet," he whispers. "Space." Hanna nods, her own eyes filling with tears. "I'll give you space," she says, her voice quivering with apology. Karen's eyes never leave Plankton's as Hanna quietly leaves the room. The silence is a balm to Plankton's overstimulated mind, and he sighs in relief, his antennae stilling. "Thanks, Karen," he whispers, his voice a soft echo of his earlier rage. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle lullaby. She strokes his back, her touch a comforting rhythm in his chaotic world. "We'll get through this." Plankton's antennae twitch in response, his body slowly unwinding from the coil of his anger. "But Hanna..." Karen nods, her screen filled with empathy. "I know, love," she whispers. "But she just doesn't know what it's like." Plankton's antennae wave slowly, his understanding of Hanna's ignorance gradually replacing his anger. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says, her voice a soft breeze in the storm of his emotions. "We'll explain to her. Everyone deserves a chance to learn." Plankton nods slowly, his antennae still, his body a tightly coiled spring. "Karen is right," he murmurs, his voice a whisper. "But Plankton scared she won't understand." Karen's hand continues to stroke his back, her screen filled with love. "We'll make sure she does," she says, her voice a promise. Plankton's body begins to relax, his antennas slowing their frantic dance. He knows Karen will protect him, explain him. His eye flutters closed, his breathing shallow, as Karen's gentle strokes calm the tempest in his mind. The room around them seems to hold its breath, the silence a stark contrast to the storm of moments before. Slowly, his antennae uncoil, his body relaxing into her embrace. The world around him becomes a blur of colors, his senses dimming as his brain seeks the solace of sleep. Karen watches him with a mix of love and worry, her hand gently stroking his antennae. She knows his mind is a whirlwind, even in rest. His breathing slows, his body going limp in her embrace. The room around them seems to quiet, the chaos of the day fading into the background as sleep claims him. Karen knows he's fallen asleep by the steady rise and fall of his chest, his antennae no longer twitching. She carefully moves him to their bed, his body a delicate weight in her arms. The room is a sanctuary of softness, the light filtering through the curtains like a gentle caress. She pulls the blankets up to his chin, tucking them in just right, her movements precise and methodical. His antennae twitch slightly in his sleep, his body a silent testament to the tumult of his day. She watches his chest rise and fall, his breaths even and deep. The tension in the air dissipates as his body relaxes further. Hanna's waiting out by the bedroom door, concerned as Karen opens the door. "Is he okay?" Hanna whispers. Her eyes are red, and her screen wet with tears. "I didn't know, Karen. I'm so sorry." Karen nods, her own eyes filled with moisture. "He's asleep now," she says, her voice barely audible. "It's the best thing for him." Hanna's gaze follows Karen's to the bed, where Plankton lies still as a statue, his antennae at rest against the pillow. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice a gentle whisper. "We all make mistakes." Hanna nods, her screen never leaving Plankton's sleeping form. "But I hurt him," she says, her voice haunted. Karen sighs, her hand on Hanna's shoulder. "You didn't mean to," she says, her voice filled with compassion. "And now you know." Hanna nods, her screen still on Plankton. "But what can I do now?" she asks, desperation in her voice. Karen looks at her friend, her gaze thoughtful. "Just be patient with him," she whispers. "Learn about his condition. And apologize when he wakes up." Hanna nods, her expression solemn. "I will," she says. Karen smiles, a thankful light in her screen. "Good," she whispers. "Now, let's let him rest." They both slip out of the room, leaving the door ajar to allow the soft light from the hallway to spill into the bedroom. Hanna looks down at the floor. "I'm so sorry, Karen," she says, her voice low. "It's okay, Hanna," Karen responds, her tone a gentle reprimand. "We're all learning how to navigate this new reality." Eventually, Plankton comes out after a little while, now awake. Karen and Hanna are both sitting together. "I'm sorry," Hanna whispers, her screen downcast. Plankton's antennae twitch with uncertainty. He doesn't remember falling asleep, or Hanna leaving. He just knows his mind was a tornado of anger and pain. Karen's voice is a gentle guide, leading him back to the present. "You had a bad shutdown," she says, her screen filled with love and concern. "It's okay to feel upset." Plankton nods, his antennas drooping. He looks at Hanna, his eye filled with uncertainty. "It's not easy," he whispers, his voice a soft admission. Hanna looks up, her eyes meeting his. "I know," she says, her voice sincere. "But I'm here for you both." Plankton's antennae wave slightly, a sign of his internal debate. "Hanna hurt Plankton," he says, his voice a monotone. Hanna nods, her screen filled with regret. "I know," she whispers. "And I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Plankton's antennae lift slightly, his body uncoiling from his protective stance. He takes a step towards her, his movement tentative. "Hanna can learn," he murmurs, his voice still tight with emotion. Hanna's eyes brighten with hope. "I want to learn," she says, her voice eager. "I want to be a good friend to both of you." Karen smiles, her screen shining with gratitude. "That's all we can ask for," she says, her voice a gentle caress.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣦⣶⣾⣿⣷⣶⣶⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣶⣿⣟⠯⠓⣉⣩⣭⣝⣻⣿⣶⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⣿⠗⢡⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⣿⣿⠏⣰⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠋⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⣿⣿⣿⢠⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠿⢿⣿⣀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣸⣿⣿⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⣨⣩⠙⠀⢹⣿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⠻⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⣀⣀⣀⣀⢧⣿⠂⣀⠀⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠍ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣶⣿⣿⠗⡤⢤⣀⡉⠊⡱⢋⣉⣉⣷⠄⠀⠀⠄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢂⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⡝⣿⣿⠀⠈⠙⠿⠃⠀⡇⠽⠛⢻⡏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⢦⠀⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡀⠀⣀⠤⠾⣄⡹⣄⠀⢸⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡈⣰⠆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣋⢹⣿⣿⣷⡾⢄⠀⠀⠀⠀⢈⣶⣿⠿⣿⡄⠀⠀⠀⠀⡐⢸⡁⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣇⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⢻⣿⣿⣇⠈⠡⢄⣀⠐⢉⣿⣿⣴⣿⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⢸⠂⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠟⢻⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠻⣿⣿⣷⣤⣄⣠⣴⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣇⡀⠀⡨⠀⡌⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⣠⠔⠒⠒⠉⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⠉⠛⢿⣿⡿⠛⠋⠘⣿⣿⠿⢯⠛⠂⠤⢅⡀⡇⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⣠⠊⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⠁⠀⠸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠀⠀⠘⠃⠀⡇⠀ ⣰⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢇⠀⠀⢣⠒⠲⠤⣀⡀⠀⡀⣀⠤⠒⠂⠸⡀⠀⢱⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⣄ ⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢆⡀⠀⢣⡀⠀⠈⠀⠈⠀⠃⠀⠀⠀⠰⠧⠀⠚⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠐⠛⠲⠻⠷⠒⠞⠂⠸⠣⠲⠖⠖⠀⠀⠻⠻⠿⠼⠟⠿⠧⠿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆ ✨𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕✨ ♡ ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ᵕ ❛⋆)! ♡ ✨ 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌 ✨ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆

😡

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣤⣶⣾⣿⠿⠿⠿⣿⣷⣶⣤⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣰⣾⡿⠟⠉⠁⠀⠀⣠⠶⠒⠙⠛⠿⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⢠⣾⡿⠋⠀⠀⠤⣄⣀⣰⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⠻⣿⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⢠⣿⡿⡡⠖⠋⠙⠲⣄⠐⢻⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⡟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢳⠈⢧⠀⠀⣾⣿⡆⠀⠀⠀⠸⣿⡇⠀⠀⣠⣴⣶⣄ ⠀⠀⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⠀⠘⣿⡿⢷⣄⠘⠛⡃⠀⠰⠀⠀⣿⣇⣴⡾⠟⠋⢹⣿ ⠀⠀⢿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⢿⣿⡇⠀⢿⣴⣾⡿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⡿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿ ⠀⠀⠘⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠈⠩⠥⠀⠀⠉⠉⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡟ ⠀⠀⠀⠘⢿⣧⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢠⠽⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣾⡿⠁ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣹⣿⣶⣤⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠤⠊⠁⠀⠘⣷⡀⠀⣠⣾⡿⠁⠀ ⠀⠀⢀⣴⣾⠿⠋⠀⠉⠉⠛⠀⠐⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣶⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀ ⣠⣶⡿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⢿⣿⣄⠀⠀⠀⢰⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠙⠿⢿⣶⣶⣾⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⣿⣇⢀⣀⣀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⣀⣀⣾⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⡟⠛⠛⠿⣷⣄⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣀⣴⡾⠟⠋⢉⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠻⠿⣶⣶⣶⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠿⠻⠿⠿⠷⠶⠶⠿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀

HAIII!!!( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) MY NAME IS VALENTINO AND IM RLLY LONELY (i have a bf so dont even try it.) IM 14 AND TRANS!! I LIKE DANDYS WORLD, SALLY FACE, AND MUCH MORE! IM NIT LOOKING FOR ANYTHING WIERD, JUST FRIENDS!! IF U WANNA BMF MY DISCORD IS: val.xx_thegreat (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠂⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠋⠁⠀⠀⠉⢻⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣯⢿⣿⣿⠷⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣷⢹⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠽⣽⢿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⣷⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣐⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣽⣟⢿⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣯⣿⣿⣷⠶⠖⠿⢷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡿⣿⣽⣽⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⡿⠃⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣟⣿⣿⣿⣹⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⡿⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣽⣿⣿⣯⣿⣿⢽⠿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡟⠁⠀⠀⣶⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢻⣿⡿⠞⠛⠛⠿⣾⠿⣟⢏⣇⣢⣿⣯⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣛⣦⠀⠀⠘⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⡟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠘⣷⣾⣿⣯⠻⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡛⣿⣷⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⣀⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣦⣄⣀⣀⣤⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣯⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⢠⠖⠢⡀⣿⣿⠟⠉⠉⠙⢿⣿⣿⣟⣻⣿⣿⣟⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣻⣿⣿⣿⣿⠈⢢⠀⠙⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣷⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠑⡄⠀⣠⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠈⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⢸⣿⣿⣄⣀⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠙⢿⣿⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡏⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣧⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢹⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⠟⠁⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⡇⠀⠀⢀⣿⣿⣿⡿⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠠⠴⠾⠿⠿⣿⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣆⠀⠀⣸⣿⣿⣿⣇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣸⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

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＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 12 Karen knows he's trying to be polite, but it's clear his tolerance is waning. This isn't how she wanted Hanna to meet Plankton. She'd hoped for a more harmonious introduction, but with his current mood and the cast looming over the room, it's clear that's not going to happen. "So, Hanna," she says, her voice cutting through the tension. "Why don't we get you settled in?" Hanna's smile doesn't falter. "Okay," she says, her eyes sliding to Plankton's cast again before quickly looking away. Karen leads Hanna to the guest room, leaving Plankton alone with his thoughts. He stares at the wall, his antennas drooping. Karen knows Plankton isn't one for strangers, and his current condition has made him even more prickly. In the guest room, Hanna sets down her suitcase, her smile fading slightly as Karen closes the door. "I'm so sorry," Hanna says, her eyes filled with apology. "I didn't kno—" Karen waves her apology away. "It's okay," she says, her voice warm. "He's just a bit...sensitive right now." Hanna nods. "Can I ask you something, Karen?" Her voice is soft, tentative. "How did he...? Like why's he in a ca--" Karen cuts her off with a gentle smile. "It's a long story," she says. "But basically, he had an accident. It's just going to take some time." She looks at Hanna, her eyes filled with warmth. "And a little patience." Hanna nods, understanding. "I see," she says. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make him uncomfortable." Karen gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "You didn't," she says. "He's just a bit...sensitive about it." Hanna nods, looking down at the floor. "But why does he have to wear that cast?" she asks, her voice hushed. Karen sighs. "It just helps his leg heal after surgery..." "He had surgery?" Hanna asks. "Yes," Karen explains patiently. "He had a pretty bad break, so the doctors had to do some fixing." Hanna's eyes widen with sympathy. "Oh no!" she exclaims. "Was it...painful for him during the surgery? Did he feel pain..." Karen's smile softens. "He's okay now," she assures her friend. "They gave him something so he didn't feel anything. They put him to sleep so he wouldn't feel anything." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh, like a nap?" she asks, her voice high with curiosity. Karen nods. "Sort of, but not really. It's just a way to keep him comfortable during the surgery. It's a bit more complex than that," she says. "But yes, it's like a deep sleep." Hanna nods, her curiosity far from sated. "So, how did he break it?" she asks. Karen's eyes dart to the door, checking that Plankton isn't listening. "It was a little accident," she says, her voice low. "A...mishap. He tripped and hit a rock." Hanna's eyes widen. "Oh, no!" she says, her voice filled with concern. "Was it bad?" Karen nods. "It was pretty serious," she admits. "But he's going to be okay. The cast will keep his leg stable while it heals. He'll be in it for about a month." Hanna looks thoughtful. "A month," she repeats. "That's a long time." Karen nods. "It is, but he's strong. He'll get through it. Why don't we go back to the living room?" Hanna nods, her expression serious. They walk back to find Plankton sitting on the couch, his leg propped up on a pillow. He looks up as they enter, his expression unreadable. "So, what's the plan for the day?" Hanna asks, trying to lighten the mood as they re-enter the living room. Karen glances at Plankton, who simply shrugs his shoulders. "Well, we usually keep it pretty low-key around here," she says, forcing a smile. Hanna's eyes light up. "Oh, I don't mind," she says. "I'm happy just to help out." Plankton's antennae twitch. "Help out?" he asks, his voice sharp. Karen sighs. "Plankton, Hanna's going to stay with us for a bit," she says gently. "And we could use the extra hand." Hanna's smile doesn't waver. "It's no trouble," she says. "I'm happy to help with anything." Plankton looks at her, his expression skeptical. "Is that so?" he says, his voice cautious. Karen nods. "We could use the help," she repeats. "But what if I don't want to do anything?" Plankton asks, his tone challenging. Hanna's smile remains unbroken. "Then I'll just keep you company," she says. Her eyes flicker to the cast again, and Plankton feels his antennae stiffen. "Great," he says sarcastically. "A babysitter." Hanna's smile falters slightly. "I'm not a babysitter," she says, some defensiveness creeping into her voice. "I just want to help." Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "Fine," he says. "But I can take care of myself." Hanna nods, her cheerfulness bubbling back up. "Of course, Plankton," she says. "But it's always nice to have someone to ta-" Her words are interrupted by Plankton's groan. "Look, I appreciate the offer," he says, cutting her off. "But I don't need a babysitter." His eye narrows. "Underst--" "I know you don't need one," Hanna says quickly, her voice earnest. "But it's nice to have company, right?" Karen nods, her smile slightly strained. "Exactly," she says. "And Hanna's good company." "I suppose," he says begrudgingly. Hanna's smile brightens. "Great!" she says, her voice chirpy. "What should we do first?" Plankton sighs. "I don't know," he says. "How about a game?" Hanna suggests. Karen nods. "That sounds fun," she says, trying to keep the peace. "Why don't we play something easy?" Plankton grunts his assent, his eye scanning the shelves for a game. He settles on a card game. "This one," he says. Hanna claps her hands together. "Perfect!" she says, her excitement contagious. Karen brings over the card game, setting it up on the coffee table. Plankton's leg sticks out, the cast a stark reminder of his current limitations. Karen smiles. "Let's move to the floor to sit on," she says. With a grumble, Plankton shifts to the floor, his cast scraping against the rug. Hanna and Karen follow, sitting cross-legged. Hanna picks up the cards, her fingers deftly shuffling them. "What's the game?" she asks, her eyes sparkling with eagerness. Plankton rolls his eye. "It's War," he says. "You know, the one where you just slap down the card with the highest number?" Hanna nods, understanding. "Oh, I love that one!" she says. Karen gives Plankton a look, silently willing him to be nicer. He sighs, his antennae drooping slightly. "Fine," he says. "Let's start."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 12 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) Karen heads to Chip's room, her mind racing with a mix of anger and concern. She opens the door, her eyes scanning the darkness until she finds him. "Chip," she says firmly, her voice a mix of disappointment and determination. "We need to talk." Her son looks up from his pillow, his eyes red and swollen. "What is it, Mom?" "What happened with your dad?" Karen asks, her voice calm but firm. Chip looks up at her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "We talked," he says, his voice small. "But it didn't really go we–" "I know," Karen says, cutting him off. "But what did you say to him, Chip?" Her tone is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. Chip swallows hard, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I just told him that I wanted to help," he says, his voice small. "And that I didn't want you to get hurt..." Karen's eyes narrow, her disappointment clear. "What exactly did you say Chip?" He sniffles, his screen meeting hers. "I said that you seem tired of his seizures, and that he's not being fair to you," Chip admits, his voice thick with regret. Karen's face tightens, her eyes flashing with a mix of anger and sadness. "You have no right to speak for me, Chip," she says, her voice firm but not unkind. "I love your dad, and we deal with this together." She takes a deep breath, her hand on his shoulder, her screen searching his. "What else did you say?" Chip's shoulders slump, his eyes brimming with tears. "I said you're his punching bag, Mom," he whispers, his voice breaking. "That you're always so patient and that it's not fair t---" Karen's hand tightens on his shoulder, her disappointment etched in the lines of her screen. "Chip," she says, her tone sharp. "You don't get to tell me how to feel, or what I think about your dad." Her words cut through his regret like a knife, his eyes widening. "But I just wanted to—" "Chip," Karen says, cutting his protest short. "You don't know what it's like, what we go through every day." Her voice shakes with the weight of emotions held in check. "You're not helping by making assumptions." Chip's eyes well up with tears, his lower lip trembling. "But Mom," he stammers, "I just don't want you to get hurt." Karen's face softens, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "I know, sweetie," she says, her voice filled with understanding. "But your dad and I are a team. What we have is complicated, but it's ours. And when you say things like that, it's like you're choosing sides. It is hard to see the one you love struggle, but right now you're the one who's causing me, and us, to hurt." Chip's eyes fill with tears, his chest tight with guilt. "I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean to make it worse." Karen sighs, her anger softening into sadness. "You didn't understand," she says gently. "But now you do." She sits beside him, her hand on his back. "What you said about your dad, it's not fair to him or to us." Chip's shoulders shake with sobs, his heart heavy. "I'm sorry," he manages to get out. "I just—" Karen's hand on his shoulder is warm, her voice steady. "Chip," she says, cutting his words off with a gentle firmness. "What you said to your dad, it wasn't right." Her eyes hold his, filled with a mixture of pain and love. Chip's gaze drops to the floor, his cheeks burning with regret. "I know," he mumbles, his voice small. "But I just wanted to tell him that—" "No, Chip," Karen says, cutting him off gently. "What you did was hurt him, and that's not what we do in this family." Her voice is firm, but her eyes are filled with concern. "We support each other, not push buttons we don't understand. Dad's not hurting me, but now I'm hurt by what you said." Chip nods, his eyes glued to the floor. "I know, Mom," he whispers. "I didn't think about how it would sound." Karen takes a deep breath, her hand moving to his cheek. "Look at me," she says, her voice gentle. "You can't fix this by pushing us apart." Her thumb wipes a tear from his cheek. "You have to talk to him, tell him you didn't mean it that way. Let's go find him." They leave Chip's room together, their steps heavy with the weight of unspoken words and regret.

12.11𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

?9i999i9i899898998 on emojicombos.ᐟ<𝟑

11:11

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14✦ "Yay! Now I can go back to eating people's skin!' ( ꩜ ᯅ ꩜;) ⋆.˚⋆

(◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

guys i being see dumb shit like this post if you like god shit like god give no fuck about you you dumb shit i hope you get hit by a pick up truck this is not fucking tik toc dumb shit god dose not love he dose not give a fuck about you go to hell get the fuck out dumb shits🤫🧏‍♂️🤫🧏‍♂️🤫🧏‍♂️you have no gyatt no rizz and no aura ²⁰⁰⁹

𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖬 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖠𝖫𝖫 pt. 6 (𝖻𝗒 𝗇𝖾𝗎𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌) 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗 : ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ᴡᴀʏ ᴀ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴᴀʟ ʀᴇᴀʟɪꜱᴛɪᴄ/ꜰᴀᴄᴛ-ʙᴀꜱᴇᴅ ᴛʀᴜᴇ ʀᴇᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴜɴɪᴛɪᴇꜱ. ᴅᴏᴇꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄʀɪʙᴇ ᴏʀ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴏᴛᴇ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪꜰɪᴄ ᴛʀᴇᴀᴛᴍᴇɴᴛ. ᴘᴜʀᴇʟʏ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛᴇᴅ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴍᴇɴᴛ. sᥙρρort to thosᥱ ιmρᥲᥴtᥱd ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇᴩᴛ- 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➸ 𝐏𝐆-𝟏𝟑 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ🙂ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴅᴀʏ The sounds Plankton makes shift again. "Skrink, skrink." Karen's eyes light up with understanding. "It's his brain's new way of saying 'I'm okay'," she whispers. "It's a 'stim'." Chip looks at his dad, his curiosity piqued. Plankton's antennae wriggle, his eye glazed over. "Skrink, skrink, skrink." The sounds are soothing, almost hypnotic. "It's like he's playing a tune," Chip murmurs. Karen nods. "In a way, he is," she says. "It's his brain's symphony." The room is bathed in the glow of Plankton's stims, his autism's unique melody. "Dad?" Chip asks tentatively, his voice a whisper. Plankton's head tilts slightly, his antennae still. "Skrink skrink skrink," he repeats. It's like he's in a trance, lost in a world only he understands. Plankton's eye flickers. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers. "You can keep making your sounds." And then it happens. Plankton's voice shifts, echoing Karen's words. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs. Chip looks at his mom, his eyes wide. "Is he... is he okay?" Karen nods. "It's his way of processing," she says. "It's called 'echolalia'." Chip nods, his gaze never leaving his father's. "It's when his brain mimics the words he hears to make sense of them," she explains. "It's like when you repeat something until it feels right." Plankton's antennae twitch in time with his echoes. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice a mirror of Karen's soothing tone. Chip smiles. "It's okay, Plankton," he repeats, trying to enforce his dad's calm. But Plankton thinks Chip's making fun of him. His antennae shoot straight up, his eye wide with hurt anger at Chip. "It's not a game, Chip!" Plankton snaps. "It's not something to tck tck... to mock!" Karen sighs, knowing this conversation needs to be handled with care. "Sorry, Dad," Chip says, his voice shaking. "I just... I thought it would he-" "It's not for you to think about!" Plankton cuts him off. Karen puts a hand on Chip's shoulder, her gaze on Plankton. "Chip didn't mean anything by it," she says calmly. "He just wants to understand and connect." She turns to Chip, her screen filled with compassion. "I know it's hard to see Dad like this," she says. "But remember, his autism is part of him, and we need to respect it. He doesn't like it when you mimic his sounds like that." Chip nods, feeling a wave of guilt. "I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers. Plankton's antennae droop slightly, but he doesn't look at Chip. "It's okay," Karen says, her voice soothing. "We're all learning here." Plankton's hand starts to move again, tracing patterns on the blanket. Karen watches. "It's his 'stimming', Chip," she says. "It's his way of self-soothing, and these movements and sounds help him to cope." Chip nods, his eyes still wet. "But why did he get so mad when I do it?" he asks. Karen sighs. "Because it's his own personal language, his way of understanding the world," she explains. "When you address it, he feels like you're invading his space, like you're not taking his feelings seriously. It's something his brain does for himself only." Karen smiles gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she whispers. "Chip's just trying to understand everything. You can keep making your sounds." Chip wants to help, but he doesn't know how. "Just let him be, Chip," Karen says, her voice soothing. Plankton shifts again, his eye teary. "It's okay, Plankton," he murmurs, echoing Karen's words from earlier. Chip clenches. He didn't mean to upset him, seeing his dad's eye welling up with tears. Karen's hand finds Plankton's, squeezing it gently. "It's okay, Plankton," she says. "You don't have to hide it from us." Plankton's tears spill over, tracing a silent river down his cheek. Karen's eyes never leave his. "You don't have to hide, Plankton," she whispers. "We're here for you." Chip watches. He doesn't know what to do, his mind racing. "Mom," he says, his voice shaking, "What can I do?" Karen turns to him, her expression gentle. "Just be here," she says. "Just listen and learn." Plankton's tears stream down. "It's okay, Plankton," he hears his wife say again. The words echo in his mind, a comforting mantra. "It's okay, Plankton," Plankton murmurs, trying to mimic her tone. But it sounds forced, wrong. He swallows hard. "That's right, Plankton," Karen says, smiling. "You're okay. You're safe, Plankton," she repeats. "You're here with us." Chip watches his dad, his heart breaking. "Mom, why is he...?" Karen's eyes are filled with pain. "It's his way of telling us he's okay," she says. "He's using my words because right now, his brain can't find his own." Chip nods, his eyes on his father. Plankton's hand is still moving, tracing the patterns on the blanket. "It's okay, Dad," Chip whispers. Plankton's crying intensifies, his tics becoming more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he murmurs, his antennae flailing. Karen reaches for him, but he flinches away. "It's okay, Plankton," she says, her voice calm. "We're here." Chip watches, his own screen wet with tears. He's never seen his dad like this before. He feels like an outsider in a conversation he's always been a part of. "You don't have to hide your tears," Karen whispers to Plankton. "We're a family." Plankton's sobs become louder, his tics more pronounced. "Tck tck tck," he says, his body convulsing slightly. Karen's hand is firm but gentle on his back, offering silent support. "It's okay," she murmurs. "Let it out." Chip watches. "Why is he...?" his voice trails off. Karen looks at him, her screen full of love. "It's his way of saying he's overwhelmed, Chip," she whispers. "When he repeats my words, it's his brain trying to find the comfort it needs." Plankton's cries become louder, his tics more erratic. "Tck tck tck," he sobs, his body shaking. Chip feels helpless, his mind racing. He wants to make it stop, but he doesn't know how. "Just be here, buddy," Karen says, her voice calm. "Sometimes, that's all he needs." Plankton's tics morph into full-body shudders, his cries now muffled by the blanket. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen whispers, her hand still rubbing his back. "We're with you." Chip watches as his father's sobs echo in the room, each one a heartbreaking testament to the weight he carries. "You're not alone," he whispers, his voice tiny in the face of Plankton's distress. The words tumble from Plankton's mouth, a mix of Karen's soothing tones and his own raw pain. "It's o-okay, P-Plankton," he repeats, his voice broken. "It's o-okay." Karen's eyes well up too, but she remains steadfast. She's seen this before. "Tck tck tck," Plankton says, his body convulsing with each sob. "You don't have t-to tck tck hide it-t." Karen nods, her thumb brushing away a tear. "It's okay," she whispers. "We love you just as you are." Plankton's sobs turn into hiccups, his antennae twitching. "It's okay, Plankton," he says, his voice mimicking hers. Karen's hand moves in gentle circles on Plankton's back, her eyes never leaving his. "It's okay, Plankton," Karen says. "You're safe here." Plankton's sobs subside slightly. Karen nods. "That's right," she whispers. "Your sounds, your tics, they're part of you." Chip watches. He's never seen his dad so vulnerable. "But... but why?" he asks. Karen takes a deep breath. "His autism, Chip," she says. "It's like his brain has its own language, and when he's overwhelmed, it comes out." Plankton's tics become less erratic, his breathing even. "It's okay, Dad," Chip says, his voice trembling. "You're not alone." Karen smiles sadly. "He knows that, Chip," she says. "But sometimes, his brain just needs to speak its own words." Plankton's eye meets his wife's, the panic receding slightly as Chip watches.

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BTS 💜BLɅϽKPIИK🖤🩷 "WIN NO MATTER WHAT" - SUGA, ON Saw Blackpink 30/11/22, Skz 14/07/24

＃ＫｎｅｅＳｕｒｇｅｒｙ pt. 6 Sandy heads to the kitchen, her steps slow and deliberate. Karen follows, giving her a quick hug. "It's okay," she whispers. "He'll come around." Sandy nods, her voice shaking. "I hope so." In the living room, Plankton's leg throbs under the weight of the cast, a constant reminder of his new limitations. Karen joins him, handing him a pillow. "Here," she says softly. "This should help." He takes it, his antennae twitching slightly as he adjusts his position on the couch. Sandy emerges from the kitchen, her eyes red-rimmed but her smile firmly in place. "Snacks," she says, setting a plate on the coffee table. Plankton nods, his eye half-closed. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice softening. Sandy swallows hard, the hurt from his earlier outburst still raw. Karen sits beside him, her hand on his shoulder. "I know you're frustrated," Karen says gently. "But Sandy worries for you." Plankton nods, his antennae drooping. "I know," he says, unable to find the words. Sandy takes a deep breath, her gaze on the floor. "I'm sorry for...everything." Her voice cracks. Plankton's eye opens fully, his expression softening. "I know, Sandy. I know." Karen squeezes his hand. "We all do." Sandy's smile is sad. "But I'm fine," he insists, his voice strained. "Just tired." Sandy nods. Karen sits quietly, her hand still on his shoulder, providing silent support as Plankton's eye closes again. The room is still, the only sound the occasional crunch of a chip. Sandy clears her throat. "Is there anything else I can do?" Her voice is tentative, hopeful. Plankton's antennae twitch. "No." He doesn't open his eye. "Just let me rest." Sandy nods, her face a mask of regret. Karen sighs, watching as her husband's chest rises and falls with his deep breaths. She knows his stubbornness will keep him from admitting his pain, but she also knows his limits, the tension in the room slowly dissipating as Plankton begins to doze. The doorbell rings, breaking the silence. Sandy jumps, startled. Karen looks at the clock. It's Mr. Krabs, arriving to see why his rival Plankton hasn't tried to steal his secret recipe. Her heart sinks. This could be bad timing. "I'll get it," Sandy says, quickly moving to the door. Karen nods, her hand still on Plankton's shoulder. She whispers, "Remember, love, we're here for you." Sandy opens the door to find Mr. Krabs, his eyes wide with surprise. "What happened to Plankton?" he asks, his voice a mix of concern and suspicion. "I've not seen him in a while; must be planning something big.." Karen sighs, her gaze flicking to her sleeping husband as Mr. Krabs comes in. "Plankton had an accident," she says, her voice measured. "He broke his leg." Mr. Krabs' expression morphs from suspicion to shock. "What? No way!" Karen nods, keeping her voice low. "It's true. He's in recovery." Sandy's eyes dart to Plankton, now snoring softly on the couch. Mr. Krabs approaches his sleeping rival, eyes narrowing. "What's that on his leg?" "It's a cast," Karen explains, her tone even. "He's going to need help for a few weeks." Mr. Krabs' claws clench, his suspicion clear. Krabs looks at the cast skeptically. "Well, if he's out of commission, then I suppose we can call a temporary truce," he says. Karen nods. "That would be kind of you." Sandy smiles weakly. "He's not the enemy right now," she murmurs, her eyes on Plankton. Mr. Krabs seems to consider this, his gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. "Fine," he says gruffly. Karen sighs with relief, guiding Mr. Krabs to a chair. "Thank you. I know this isn't easy for him to accept." Sandy nods in agreement. "He's always so independent." Mr. Krabs grumbles, but his eyes soften. "He's a tough little feller." As they sit in the living room, the sound of Plankton's snores punctuating the silence, Mr. Krabs notices drool slowly seeping from the corner of Plankton's mouth as his snores grow louder. "Looks like he's out cold," Mr. Krabs says. "Is he okay?" "He's fine," Karen reassures him. "Just sleeping. It's part of his healing process." Mr. Krabs clears his throat, his expression unreadable. "Well, if he's not going to be a problem for a while, I suppose I can spare time to help." Sandy's eyes widen, hopeful. Karen's smile is genuine. "That would be wonderful, Mr. Krabs. We could really use the extra hands." Mr. Krabs nods, his claws tapping the arm of the chair. "But I'm not cooking, got it?" They all chuckle softly, the tension easing slightly. "I can't believe he's out for the count," he murmurs, almost to himself, when Plankton's drool forms a small puddle on the couch. "Uhm," Krabs says, "Plankton is gonna need to be cleaned up." Karen nods, not wanting to wake her husband. Sandy jumps up to help, but Krabs stops her. "No, no," he says gruffly. "Let me—" But before he can finish, Plankton's snores turn into a low moan. His antennae twitch, his good leg moving slightly. "His pain meds are wearing off," Karen whispers. Sandy quickly grabs the water and pills from the side table, handing them to Karen. Karen gets the water and pills, moving to Plankton's side. She gently shakes his shoulder. "Honey," she says softly. "It's time for your medicine." Plankton's eye flickers open, his expression a mix of pain and irritation as he sees Mr. Krabs. "What are you doing here?" he grumbles, his voice thick with sleep and pain. Mr. Krabs coughs, his claws raising in a defensive gesture. "Just came to check on the...competition," he says, his voice trailing off as he looks at the cast. Sandy and Karen exchange a nervous glance. Plankton's antennae twitch with annoyance. "I don't need your pity," he says through gritted teeth, his pain evident. Mr. Krabs' eyes narrow. "Pity? Pah! I'm just making sure you're not plotting anything, while you're...drooling." Plankton's face flushes when he puts his hand to his mouth, realizing he's been drooling in his sleep. He wipes at his mouth quickly before taking the pills and water. "Thanks," he mutters, his voice gruff. Karen helps him sit up more comfortably, his leg propped on the pillow. Mr. Krabs clears his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. "Well, I've got a...uh, question," he says. Sandy and Karen exchange another look, but Plankton seems too tired to care. "What is it?" he asks, his patience wearing thin. Mr. Krabs shifts in his chair. "I was wondering if, during your...ahem, cast, if you broke your leg, what'd they do to it before putting it in a cast?" Sandy's eyes widen slightly, but she remains silent, allowing Plankton to answer. Plankton sighs, his antennae drooping. "They had to use some kind of special bone glue," he says, his tone weary. "And now I've got this monstrosity on me for six weeks." Mr. Krabs' eyes go wide. "Bone glue?" he repeats. "No way! What did it look like?" Plankton groans, his frustration clear. "I s'pose it looked like... glue," he says, his voice trailing off. "Whaddya mean you s'pose? You were there!" Krabs asks. "How'd it..." Plankton cuts him off, his antennae standing tall. "It was a blur," he snaps. "You were asleep, weren't you?" Sandy says, earning her a glare from Plankton. Mr. Krabs, however, seems even more fascinated, his curiosity of Plankton piqued. "How'd that work?" he asks, his claws tapping nervously. "I mean, they just put you out? But what did it feel like? Did you feel them sticking your bones together, or...?" Plankton sighs, frustrated/angry, his antennae drooping. "They put me under, okay?" he says, his voice tight. "I don't know what it felt like." "But you were there!" Krabs insists. "W---" "I SAID I DON'T KNOW!" Plankton shouts, his pain and irritation boiling over. His grip on the pillow tightens, knuckles white. Karen's eyes widen, and Sandy takes a step back, alarmed. "I didn't see anything. It was just... nothingness." Mr. Krabs leans back in his chair, his claw steepled under his chin. "Hmm," he says, his voice thoughtful. "And you're sure you weren't dreaming about stealing me secret recipe?" Sandy laughs nervously, trying to diffuse the tension, but Plankton's face turns a deeper shade of red. "I was UNCONSCIOUS," he growls. Mr. Krabs holds up his claws in defense. "Just checking!" he says, his eyes gleaming. "But seriously, what's it like being put under..." "I woke up!" Plankton exclaims, his antennae twitching. "With a giant cast on my leg! I don't remember any dreams. It was just... nothing." Sandy tries to lighten the mood. "Maybe you dreamt about jellyfish," she suggests with a weak smile. Mr. Krabs' eyes light up. "Jellyfish? Did you see an–" "NO!" Plankton snaps. "No dreams, no jellyfish. Just... nothingness." Mr. Krabs seems disappointed but quickly recovers. "Well, if you say so," he says, his tone nonchalant. "But you're sure you didn't see anyth—" "KRABS!" Plankton's voice booms through the room, cutting off his rival's question. "I told you, there was nothing!" His antennae wave in agitation. Mr. Krabs' eyes twinkle with curiosity. "Ah, but what about the after-effects?" he presses on. "You know, those fuzzy thoughts you get when you first wake up? Did y-" But Plankton's patience has reached its limit. "I don't know what you're talking about," he says through clenched teeth. "I just know that I woke up!" Karen steps in, placing a calming hand on Plankton's shoulder. "Krabs, I think we should respect Plankton's space right now," she says firmly. Mr. Krabs nods, his expression slightly chastised. "Right, right," he says, his claws retreating into his pockets. "Sorry, I'll just get going."

DO YOU TRUST ME pt. 6 𝖠𝗎𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗋'𝗌 𝖣𝗂𝗌𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗋 𝖭𝗈𝗍𝖾 𝘐 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘭𝘦𝘵. 𝘐'𝘮 𝘰𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘮 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧. 𝘐 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘥𝘥 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴. 𝘚𝘰 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘱𝘦𝘰𝘱𝘭𝘦, 𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘪𝘴𝘮 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘥𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 𝘞𝘦 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘩, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘺. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘣𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴. 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘪𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘨𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶. ( emojicombos.com/neurofabulous ) They reach the bedroom's closed door, and Karen knocks softly. "Honey?" she calls. "Can we come in?" There's a moment of silence before Plankton's voice says, "I s'pose." Karen opens the door to find Plankton sitting on the edge of the bed, his antennae still quivering slightly. He looks up, his eye red-rimmed. Chip lingers in the doorway, his heart racing. He's scared to move, to say the wrong thing. But Karen's hand on his shoulder guides him in. "Daddy?" Chip whispers, his voice tentative. Plankton's antennae twitch, and he looks up, his face a mix of pain and discomfort. Karen gives Chip a small nod of encouragement, and he slowly approaches the bed, his hand outstretched but not touching. "Dad, can I sit with you?" he asks, his voice shaking. Plankton looks at him. "If you must," he says, his tone filled with sarcasm. "But don't expect me to be all 'Oh, Chip, I'm so happy to see you!' when you've clearly called me a monster." Chip's eyes widen at the harshness of his father's words. "But Dad, I di-" Plankton holds up a hand, his antennae still quivering. "Don't," he says, his voice sharp. "Don't pretend you understand. You don't. You just threw around words you heard from those little brats at school without even knowing what they mean!" Chip's face falls, his eyes welling up with tears again. "But I didn't mean it," he stammers, his voice breaking. "I just wanted-" "I know what you wanted," Plankton snaps, his antennae quivering with agitation. "You wanted answers, and you didn't get them. So, you threw a fit like a typical kid." Chip's eyes fill with fresh tears. "But I didn't know," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I wan-" "Yeah, well, ignorance is not an excuse," Plankton interrupts, his antennae flailing. "You hurt me, Chip. And for what? Because you didn't get your precious hug?" His voice drips with sarcasm, each word a tiny dagger to Chip's heart. "Daddy, I'm sorry," Chip whimpers, his hand dropping to his side. "I didn't kn-" But Plankton's sarcasm cuts him off again. "Oh, sorry, I forgot. You didn't know," he says, his voice laden with bitterness. "Well, now you do. And now you can go back to your little life, knowing you've hurt your dad. Great job!" Chip flinches at the harshness, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Dad, please," he begs. "I didn't underst--" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton cuts him off, his antennas quivering with anger. "You think you can just come in here and make everything better with your sorry excuses?" Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely a whisper. "But I didn't mean to hurt you, Daddy," he says, his voice shaking. "I just wanted to he-" Plankton turns away, his antennas flailing with agitation. "Don't 'Daddy' me," he spits out. "You don't get to call me that after what you said." His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife. Chip's eyes are wide with shock and hurt. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I didn't mean to-" But Plankton's not listening. "Oh, I'm sure you didn't," he says, his tone thick with sarcasm. "You just couldn't help blurting out the first thought that came to your little brain, could you?" Chip feels his heart crumble. "But Dad, I-" "I don't want to hear it," Plankton says, his voice ice cold. "You've said enough." He turns away, his antennae twitching angrily. "Just get out. Leave me alone." Chip stands there, his small hand hovering in the air, wanting to comfort his dad, but not knowing how. His voice shakes with pain. "But Dad, I-" Plankton turns back to him, his antennae snapping with anger. "You don't get it, do you?" he shouts, his voice rising. "You never have!" His eye widens, his body tenses. "I'm not your little science project to poke and prod when you're curious!" Chip takes a step back, his eyes wide with fear. He's never seen his dad like this before, so out of control. "Daddy, I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling. But Plankton's anger seems to grow with every word, his body shaking. "You don't get to be sorry!" he roars, his antennae quivering violently. "You don't get to just say sorry and expect me to be okay with it!" Chip's eyes are wide with fear, his body frozen in place. He's never seen his dad like this, his normally stoic demeanor shattered by a storm of emotions. "Daddy, please," Chip whispers, his voice barely audible. But Plankton's anger is like a tsunami, crashing against the walls of the room. "You think you can fix me with a sorry?" Plankton's voice booms, his antennae flailing. "You think your pity can make everything okay?" Chip shrinks back, his eyes wide with fear. So Karen decides to jump in to mediate. "Plankton, honey," Karen says, her voice steady. "Chip's only trying to understand. He's scared for you. Let's just sit down on the bed." Plankton's antennae slow their frantic dance as he looks at her, his eye slightly less fiery. With a heavy sigh, he nods, and they all sit down, a tense silence filling the room. Chip's eyes are glued to his father, searching for any sign of softening in his gaze. Plankton's breaths come in short, shallow bursts, his body still taut with emotion. After a moment, Karen speaks up, her voice a gentle reminder. "Remember, Plankton, Chip's just a child," she says, her tone soothing. "He doesn't understand everything about your condition yet." Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye still glaring at his son. "I know," he murmurs, his voice low. Karen gives Chip a reassuring look. "Why don't you tell your dad what you know about autism?" she suggests, trying to ease the tension. Chip nods, taking a deep breath. "Well, I know it's like his brain works differently," he starts, his voice wobbly. "And sometimes, it makes things hard for him, like too much noise or little things that don't bother me." He looks at Plankton. Plankton's antennae stiffen slightly, his gaze still sharp. "And I know he has these... these breaks," Chip continues, his voice gaining strength. "Where he needs to get away from everything for—" "Absence seizures," Plankton says, his voice flat. "They're called absence seizures." Chip's eyes widen. "Oh, right. Those moments when you zone out," he says, trying to remember the right words. Plankton nods, his antennae still tense. Karen watches the exchange, her heart breaking for both of them. She knows this is hard for Plankton to admit, and even harder for Chip to understand. "They're a part of his autism, Chip." Chip nods, his eyes firmly on his father. "So, when you have one of those... seizures, it's like your brain needs to take a break?" Plankton sighs. "Yeah," he says, his voice weary. "It's like... everything gets too much, and my brain just shuts down for a bit. It's not something I can control. Are you satisfied?" Chip looks at him with innocent curiosity. "What's it like?" he asks, his voice soft. Plankton's antennae twitch, his eye flickering with memory. "Dad, what's it li—" Plankton's hand shoots up, cutting him off. "It's like nothing you could ever understand," he says, his voice tight with anger. "So just leave it, okay?" Chip's eyes fill with unshed tears. "But Dad," he whispers, his voice shaking. "I just want to kn-" Plankton's antennae snap upward, his anger palpable. "You're just a kid, playing at being adult!" His antennae quiver with the intensity of his emotions, his body tense with frustration. Chip shrinks back, his cheeks wet with tears. "But Dad," he whispers, "I just-" "Don't," Plankton says, his voice cutting like a knife. "Don't pretend you get it." Chip's eyes are wide with fear and confusion. "But Dad," he says, his voice trembling. "I'm not..." But Plankton's anger continues to build, his antennae quivering like live wires. "You don't get it, Chip!" he roars. "You're just a kid who thinks he can fix everything with a hug and a sorry!" His words cut deep, each one a knife to Chip's heart. Chip's eyes fill with tears, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Daddy, I just want to help," he says, his hand trembling as it reaches out. Plankton's antennae shoot up, his body tensing. "Don't touch me," he snaps, his eye wild with agitation as he throws a pillow from the bed down by his side. Chip's hand retreats as if burned, his eyes wide with fear. "But Daddy, I just-" "I said don't touch me!" Plankton's voice is a roar, his antennae whipping around like angry snakes. He stands, his whole body a testament to his rage. Chip stumbles backward, his heart racing. He's never seen his father like this, his normally calm demeanor shattered by a tempest of emotions.

🙅🙅⬜🙅🪚🖕🏼🇳🇱🗡️🗡️🪚⬜⬜🇳🇱🇳🇱⬜ ⬜🙅🙅🪚🗡️🇳🇱🇳🇱🖕🏼🖕🏼🗡️🖕🏼🇳🇱🪚⬜🪚 🙅🙅🪚🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🪚🗡️🖕🏼🙅🖕🏼🗡️🗡️🖕🏼 🙅🙅🗡️⬜🇳🇱⬜🪚🪚🗡️🙅⬜🗡️🗡️🙅🙅 ⬜🗡️🗡️🗡️🪚🖕🏼🗡️🖕🏼🇳🇱🪚🙅🙅🖕🏼⬜🪚 🙅⬜🇳🇱🖕🏼🖕🏼🗡️🗡️⬜🖕🏼⬜🪚🗡️🙅🗡️🖕🏼 ⬜🗡️⬜⬜🗡️🖕🏼⬜⬜🗡️⬜🙅🙅🗡️🗡️🙅 🗡️🗡️🪚🪚🗡️🪚🇳🇱🪚🙅🪚🙅🪚⬜🇳🇱🙅 🗡️🪚⬜🗡️🗡️🇳🇱🖕🏼🖕🏼🗡️🖕🏼🪚🗡️🖕🏼🖕🏼🗡️ 🖕🏼🪚🗡️🙅🪚🗡️🖕🏼🪚🇳🇱🙅🗡️🙅⬛🖕🏼⬜ 🪚🪚🪚🗡️⬜🪚⬜🗡️🙅🙅🪚🖕🏼🙅⬜🖕🏼 🙅🪚⬜🗡️🪚🪚🖕🏼⬜🗡️🪚🙅🗡️🙅🇳🇱⬜ ⬜🗡️🗡️🙅🪚🪚🗡️⬜🗡️🗡️🙅🖕🏼🗡️⬜⬜ ⬜⬜⬜🖕🏼🙅🗡️🪚🙅🇳🇱🙅🖕🏼🙅⬜⬜⬜ ⬜⬜🙅⬜🗡️🇳🇱🇳🇱🗡️🖕🏼🖕🏼⬜⬜⬜⬜⬜

A TOOTHY STORY pt. 6 Plankton's eye closes, his breathing deepens into snores. Karen watches him for a moment, his chest rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. "You're okay," she whispers, her voice a soft ripple in the quiet room. "You're safe now." Her words hang in the air, a comforting lullaby, when Karen's friend Hanna unexpectedly arrives. "Karen?" Hanna's voice is a splash of cold water, jolting Karen to the present. She quickly wipes Plankton's mouth and stands up, turning to face her friend. "Is everything alright?" Hanna's eyes widen, noticing Karen's husband Plankton on the couch, his mouth open, snoring softly. Karen laughs nervously. "Oh, yes," she says, her voice a bit too high. "Just a little... dental procedure." Hanna looks with concern. "My place is getting a remodel, I don't know where else to stay..." she asks, her eyes scanning Plankton's sleeping form. Karen nods, her smile reassuring. "Of course, you can stay here," she says, her voice a warm embrace. "The spare room's good." Hanna looks at Plankton, still snoring peacefully. "Is he okay?" she whispers. "I know I've never personally met him.." Karen nods, her voice a whisper. "Yes, he's fine," she says, her hand on his forehead. "Just sleepy." Hanna's eyes flicker with concern. "What happened?" she asks, her voice a soft ripple of curiosity. Karen hesitates, her hand still resting on Plankton's head. "It's nothing to worry about," she says, her voice a gentle breeze. "Just a little dental work." Hanna nods, her eyes studying Plankton. "Is he going to be okay?" she whispers, her voice a soft ripple of concern. "Why's he tired?" Karen sighs, her smile slightly forced. "It's just... part of the process," she says, avoiding the mention of teeth. "They had to give him some medicine to help him sleep." Hanna nods, her gaze still on Plankton. "He seems so peaceful," she says, her voice a soft caress. "What was it for?" Karen's smile is tight. "Everything is just fine, Hanna. He might not want me to say much without his permission." Hanna nods, understanding. "Of course, I didn't mean to pry." She looks around the room. "It's just, I've never seen anyone sleep so... peaceful?" Karen laughs softly, her voice a gentle ripple. "It's the medicine," she says. "They had to give him something to relax." Hanna nods, her gaze lingering on Plankton's sleeping form. Karen decides it's time to wake him, gently shaking his shoulder. "Plankton," she whispers, her voice a soft nudge. "Wake up, sweetheart." Plankton's eye opens with a start, his antennae shooting up. "Whath...whathapened?" he mumbles, his speech still slurred. Karen laughs, her voice a warm embrace. "We need to get you into bed," she says, her eyes twinkling with love. "My friend Hanna came, and she'll stay in the guest room." Plankton blinks, his antennae waving erratically. "Han-Han?" he mumbles, his voice a slurred song. "Whaths...whaths?" Hanna waves, her smile genuine. "Hi, Plankton," she says. "Nice to meet you.." But Plankton, still groggy, mumbles incoherently, his eye half-closed. "Muff...muff...muffins," he says, his tongue thick. Karen laughs, her voice a warm laugh. "It's okay, sweetheart, you're just tired," she says, guiding him to his feet. He sways, his body still under the anesthesia's spell. "Muff...muffins," he repeats, his voice a sleepy mumble. Karen rolls her eyes, her smile a gentle curve. "No muffins," she says, her voice a soothing wave. "It's night.." His antennae droop, his mind a jumbled mess. "B-but... you promithed..." he slurs, his eye struggling to focus. Karen laughs, her voice a warm caress. "Oh, Plankton," she says, helping him to the bedroom. They reach the bed, and she helps him lie down, his body collapsing onto the mattress. "Just sleep, love," she whispers, her hand stroking his. Hanna watches from the doorway, her smile a mix of amusement and concern. "Is he going to be okay?" she asks again. Karen nods, her voice a reassuring lullaby. "Yes, just rest is what he needs," she says. "It'll will wear off completely in the morning; we all need our sleep." But Plankton, not quite ready to drift away, reaches his arms out. "Pweath...picture," he mumbles, his hand reaching for Hanna's. Hanna, surprised by his sudden request, pulls out her phone, the screen a bright beacon in the dim room. "A selfie?" she whispers, her voice a questioning bubble. Karen nods, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "I'll get you gauze first," she says, helping him sit up slightly. Hanna, unsure but willing, holds out her phone, the screen glowing with potential. "Ready?" she asks, her voice a soft whisper. Plankton nods, his antennae bobbing. Karen carefully places the gauze pads in Plankton's mouth, his eye widening slightly at the unexpected sensation. "Now," she says, her voice a gentle prompt. "There." Hanna holds the phone steadily, the camera lens a tiny window into their world. Plankton's arm wraps around her shoulder, his antennae sticking out like party horns. "Cheeese," he mumbles through the gauze, his voice slurred but earnest. The flash goes off, illuminating the room briefly. Hanna looks at the photo, her smile warm. "You got it, Plankton," she says, handing him the phone. His eye squints, trying to focus on the screen. Karen laughs softly, watching them from the bedside. "You two are adorable," she says, her voice a gentle tease. Plankton looks at her, his mouth still full of gauze. With a thumbs up from Plankton, Hanna posts the selfie, the image of their smiles and Plankton's comical gauze-filled grin floating into the digital abyss of her social media feed. The caption reads: "Visiting Karen! Featuring @ Plankton 😂🦷💊" The notification sounds chime through the quiet room, a digital symphony of likes and laughing emojis. Plankton's eye widen, his antennae perking up. "What's that?" he asks, his voice a groggy whisper. Hanna laughs. "Everyone thinks you're cute. Now I gotta get some rest myself!" Plankton's antennae droop, his eye heavy with sleep. "M-more...m-muffins?" he asks, his voice a slurred plea. Karen laughs, her voice a warm hug. "No more, Plankton," she says, placing a kiss on his forehead. "You need to sleep now." Plankton closes his eye, succumbing to the gentle pull of sleep. Karen and Hanna watch him for a moment, his snores the only sound in the quiet room. Hanna's smile is warm. "He's so cute," she whispers. They both watch as Plankton's snores fill the room, his body finally at peace. Hanna's concern fades into curiosity. "What's with the muffins?" she asks, her voice a whisper. Karen giggles, her hand still on his. "It's just the remnants of meds talking," she says, her voice a gentle wave. "He'll be himself in the morning." She stands up, her movements smooth as a dolphin's. "Let's get you settled in the guest room now.."

★🍞🔥 TOSTADORAS FOREVER (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠) #OC 🔥🍞★‹𝟹

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣠⣐⡚⠒⠢⣄⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡜⠁⠀⠈⠀⠀⠹⡀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⡹⠦⠤⠶⠭⢦⣠⡇⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠰⠤⡤⣤⣤⡴⠋⣿⠁⠀⣀⣀⡀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⣀⡡⡳⡮⣠⡞⢬⠏⠉⠁⠈⠙⡆⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢰⠋⠀⠘⢿⣽⣾⡿⢚⠥⠃⠀⠀⠀⢀⡅⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢸⠀⠀⢀⣤⠝⠛⠈⠑⠈⠉⠁⣀⣼⠋⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⢀⡀⠤⠜⠓⠊⠁⠈⠻⢶⣄⣀⣤⣴⣾⠟⠁⡰⡇⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⣀⠔⢊⢆⠤⠤⡤⠤⢤⣴⣶⣶⠿⡿⠿⣿⡧⢂⠔⡹⠀⠀ ⠀⢀⣠⣤⣴⣶⡶⡺⣱⣶⣧⣸⣀⠀⢳⡀⣤⣶⠿⢦⡀⣠⠔⢉⠔⠁⣰⠀⠀⠀ ⢄⣻⡿⣿⣶⣾⣿⣾⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣷⣦⠘⢿⣷⣄⠀⠻⣥⣀⡁⠀⠀⡏⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠈⠛⠿⣻⢿⣟⣦⣻⣼⣿⣿⣿⡿⠿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣦⢀⢠⢙⠞⣛⣖⡸⠄⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠚⠿⣟⡿⢿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣿⣸⣼⣧⣻⠶⣟⣡⣤⠶⠚ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠑⠢⢄⣈⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠉⠥⠔⠒⠛⠉⠁⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠉⠲⡶⠋⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

guy stop fucking saying this web needs to be a fucking app like what the fuck there lots of fucking beef like do you guys have brain cells of a dick shit like get a life if you care about fucking 8 year olds then dont make this a fucking app if you fucking do more little kids will get draked like what the skidi bro get a fucking bro°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

please dont put gross stuff here ! keep it to yourself or post it elsewhere, their is kids around 9 and a few years up here just trying to find cute symbols !! this is a safe space ^^ spread the word please :3

｡°⚠︎°｡𝐍𝐨 𝐒𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐚𝐧, 𝐍𝐨 𝐑𝐢𝐢𝟕𝐞